1969
by Unloved Grudge
Summary: A personal story following the perspective of a Corporal during the events in Hope, Idaho. Leading right up to the catastrophic outbreak in 1969.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

1969. 1969. 1969. 1969. 1969. 1969.

The year that changed my life. I am Corporal Johnson. I was a prisoner of Hope Idaho. A voluntary prisoner.

I observed my surroundings. Maimed limbs, bodies and puddles of blood were littered across the town center. I inhaled the strong scent of gunpowder, closed my eyes and exhaled heavily. I strolled forward, ignoring the echoes of gunfire behind me, followed by the angered screams of the dozens of infected villagers being gunned down in the hospital. I continued to walk down towards the center, before catching a glimpse of the "Hope Women's Club." The bright yellow sign hanging over the entrance was riddled with bullet holes, no doubt caused by the extraction team, or possibly the small pockets of resistance that still retained the intelligence necessary to use firearms. There was an eerie silence as I observed the clubhouse, before a sharp scream erupted from the hospital behind me. A scream loud enough to have echoed throughout the town. A scream that would have curdled the blood in the veins of even the most renowned of war veterans. A scream that that was only too familiar.

Greene.


	2. REDLIGHT

**REDLIGHT**

* * *

><p><em>2101/65_

I strolled into the conference hall with Sergeant Baker. Over one hundred soldiers were present. They were clearly desperate to hear the weekly update on REDLIGHT. "Fuck man, I wonder what the jizz will be today," whispered one of the privates standing at the door, clenching his rifle tightly. "Hell if I know," another replied, staring at the trio of men sitting at the front of the hall. Personally, I despised the weekly updates, since Command was often extremely vague with the details. It's been at least three weeks since I made an appearance in this very hall. Partially because I resented the whole concept of being part of this military experiment, and mainly because I was barred after decking Lieutenant Colonel Williams at the last conference I attended. Generally those kind of infringements would land you with a court-martial, but I got off pretty easy due to the fact that General Stillwell was very iffy with sending more troops to Idaho, which eventually increased my suspicion that REDLIGHT was more than just "biological research."

I think I've been there for almost six months at that point. I sniggered softly. I couldn't even remember the day I arrived there. I looked up. 2nd Lieutenant Peter Randall was present, sitting next to the Lt Colonel and the professor. He was a well built man in his early thirties, who had only arrived a couple of weeks ago. I spotted him on the field a few times, and he seemed to have earned the respect of quite a few soldiers. However, I could tell from his distinct lack of enthusiasm and emotion that he was an old fart, as well as his annoying habit of boasting about the fact that was he going to be deployed to Vietnam within a matter of months. At least we were well out of the line of fire in Hope, or at least that was the case for a relatively short amount of time.

I took my seat next to the window, unable to divert my eyes from a group of young women standing outside chatting away, oblivious to the military gathering was going on in here. The majority of the populace paid little heed to the military around here, mainly because there were no significant cases reported among the REDLIGHT carriers for several months. Regardless, I still found the whole concept sickening, worsened only by the fact that everyone seemed so passive with regards to the virus. Lt Colonel Williams stood up. "ATTENTION!" His yell was followed by utter silence across the room. Williams was a moron. He was second in command and always had to attend the conference meetings. He spoke for half of the meeting, before professor Higgins intervened with the REDLIGHT update. Williams was well into his forties, was a tad overweight and not once have I ever seen him participate in any skirmishes or patrols. A disgrace of a military officer, and his inability to retaliate to that punch I delivered to his forehead three weeks prior was proof of that. Not to mention the fact that he made no attempt to motivate his men, instead opting to spend the majority of his time in solitude at his quarters outside of the town.

"Today, we'll be..." I sat back and folded my arms. I couldn't have been bothered listening to this blabbering idiot, because he probably didn't know shit about REDLIGHT. He would have, if he had listened. But he never did, he just addressed the troops for five minutes before the professor moved in for the real deal. He would then retreat to the back of the hall and pretend to look interested. However, any man could tell from his rotund stomach and anxious body language that he didn't enjoy being there at all. I looked up and held my breath. He was looking at me, before immediately breaking off as our eyes locked. At that very moment, nothing would have sedated my anger more than another good punch to that flabby face of his. I had my reasons for assaulting him, particularly because he postponed our time-off by another 3 months. It's been two months since I've been at home, and I was getting sick of this REDLIGHT tosh. Even if it paid the bills.

Baker nudged me. "If you want to leave, go ahead." His rough Irish accent could have easily made anyone flinch, but I was used to it.

"Nah, I'm fine. I wouldn't mind getting a strike at him though."

"Heh, says you and one hundred other men."

"I'm not surprised. Ignorant fucker."

Sergeant Baker. He was a tall and hard headed man in his late thirties. He was easy to notice by his rugged patch of light red hair. The man had been stationed in Hope ever since the whole "project" began, right before I arrived and got lumbered in his squad. He was an intimidating fellow at first, with his extremely bulky arms being the most threatening part of his physique. However beneath all the muscle mass, he was a fair man and possessed extensive knowledge of the whole virus. Or at least it was extensive relative to most of the men there. I never really took much of an interest in his knowledge ever since I found out that he was a pure failure when it came to poker. I may not have bested him in the arm wrestling contests our squad held every week, but I sure as shit beat him when it came to logic.

" I can't wait to get home."

"Sir?"

"My family, Johnson, my family. It's my son's eighteenth birthday in two months time. I'm hoping to get a week to go back to New York around that time," he whispered, stroking the thin red goatee on his chin. "But it seems awful unlikely now that Williams has postponed our time-off."

'I'd love a week off too, sir.'

Corporal Peter Johnson. I was merely twenty four years old at the time and I had a wife and two boys to worry about, so I had to join the army a little over a year ago. I was part of the 20% of the troops here who didn't have to transfer their families to Hope. Mainly because my family were living in Florida, and the vast majority of the 20% had families settled on the east coast as well, so the complications of relocating our families over such a distance would have been too much. I was glad though. I wouldn't have been very exalted at the thought of having my two sons injected with a virus I knew jack shit about.

Colonel Williams had just stepped down from the stage. Professor Higgins stood. A man in his early fifties, he was here for about two to three months. He led the research on the virus and had to update the military once a week. He never informed the villagers of the development of the virus, and only the military were allowed to listen in.

"Good morning." He harbored a distinctive English accent. "I understand that it's a very warm day outside, so I apologize for having to hold this conference so early in the afternoon." He started to rub his back vigorously, before clenching his teeth with pain. I just assumed that he had a bad back, but had I known what was the cause of such an injury I probably would have fled the conference room in terror, before barricading myself in the nearest building. "However, some very interesting anomalies have been detected within the population last week," he continued. All of the troops had their eyes locked on him, taking an apparent interest in the new update. "We have received reports from our local research station that significant manifestations in the virus have been detected in the newborn children present in the town." I sat forward, facing towards the professor. "Two children were born over the last few weeks, and our scans and tests indicate that they carry the REDLIGHT virus, but with some notable differences." I shook my head. I couldn't believe that they were even performing tests on newborn children. "One of the children has developed an extreme acceleration in intelligence. The aforementioned child is merely three weeks old, and has developed the build and intellect of a 6 month old. He is completely capable of drinking bottles of milk without assistance from his parents, and has already learned to respond to his own name." I gasped in shock. A three week old child that has developed that much in such a short space of time?

Sergeant Major Chalmers, who was the deputy commander-in-chief of the local forces in the town, raised his hand. "Are you saying that this here virus can make people grow and learn faster?"

Higgins gripped his back again. "Uh...why yes, it appears to be that way. We are still in the preliminary stages of completing all of our tests, but we are confident that the virus does accelerate the growth rate of the average human being."

Another man raised his hand. "So, by the time this child reaches his first birthday, he'll have the physique of a fully grown, prepubescent child?"

Higgins paused for a moment. "We're not absolutely sure. Once again, we are still in the preliminary stages, so we cannot confirm if he will continue to experience these kind of growth spurts." He shrugged. "All we can do is wait and see."

The troops could do nothing but stare at the professor. I honestly could not have blamed them. The fact that this virus could accelerate the growth of a mere newborn is incredible, but I felt that there had to be more to it. I raised my hand. "Sir, were there any side effects following the child's growth spurt?"

Higgins paused and glanced back at Randall. He looked back at me and exhaled heavily. "That information is classified at the moment. My apologies, private."

Williams stood and walked towards the professor. "Alright then, I think that's enough for today. All of you are to return to your posts immediately. Dismissed!"

I strolled outside with Sergeant Baker, trying to fix my posture after spending so long sitting in those extremely uncomfortable chairs. The sun was blazing, with a few clouds were scattered across the sky, but there was no sign of rain to come. I squinted my eyes and looked around. There was hardly anyone on the streets, bar the soldiers who came out of the conference hall.

'Market day.' I turned around, ol' Baker was behind me.

'Market day? I thought they were on Saturdays, sir.'

'They're being changed around a bit. Market day on Thursdays. No church on Saturday evenings anymore. They're thinking of holding conference meetings on Tuesdays from now on.' He concealed his forehead from the sun. 'Warm today, isn't it?'

"Yes, it is, sir. Interesting wea-"

"Right!", he interrupted. 'I'm going back to the base for something to eat. Ya coming?"

"Yes, sir."

We made our way out of the area, but I managed to steal a glance at Williams, Randall and Higgins, who just walked out of the hall's fire exit. Higgins caught my stare, before turning away almost immediately to follow his two commanders. "Why was that information classified?"

"Eh?"

"I just wanted to know why he would keep the side effects classified?"

"How am I supposed to know?" A great irony, considering that Baker knew a great deal more about the virus than most of the other men, but I kept quiet about it. "Probably keeping it a secret because there ARE side effects."

"Good point." Just as I thought. An accelerated growth rate like that could not, under any circumstances, be without any significant side effects. Despite having to spend a great deal of time listening to Williams, I was anxiously awaiting the next conference meeting.


	3. NEWBORN

**Chapter 2**

NEWBORN

* * *

><p><em>2601/65_

Private Hafen and I sprinted towards the town centre, eager to seek shelter from the oncoming rainstorm. As we closed in on the conference building, our marathon across the town skidded to a halt after we had noticed the crowd of troops standing outside the door. The men were shivering, drenched from the barrage of precipitation raining down on the town. "Are these fuckers going to let us in or what?," shouted one of the privates near the front of the crowd. At that very instant, the wooden double doors leading into the building opened, revealing Sergeant Major Chalmers and two troopers behind him with M16 assault rifles resting in their hands.

"Fucking great, he usually shows up when things go awry," Hafen mumbled. His remark was barely audible over the roars of the men demanding to be let into the building. Chalmers stood at the double doors with his arms firmly crossed, glaring at the platoon of troops who looked as if they were ready to raid the establishment. He waved at one of the commanding officers in the group.

"Hold up a second," the officer shouted, raising his hands to calm the angered troops. The insignia on his uniform indicated that he was merely a Staff Sergeant, a rank that wouldn't have held much authority over such a large group of men, especially when half of them were pissed off as hell for having to wait outside in the storm. Despite their apparent rage, the men obeyed the order of the officer and ceased their hostility towards Chalmers. "Go ahead sir."

"Thank you, Sergeant," he grinned. His expression of gratefulness towards the Sergeant was brief, he turned towards the horde of troops surrounding the entrance. "Conference meetings are being called off indefinitely." The group remained quiet, with their eyes fixated on Chalmers. "Each of you are to return to your quarters immediately. Your COs will be briefed on the new timetables for your patrols." He paused for a moment, glancing up at the blanket of grey cloud overlooking the town centre, before looking back at the men. "There are going to be some really big fucking changes around here, so your co-operation would be greatly appreciated," he announced. "Now git."

One by one the men eventually departed from the entrance, muttering every word of profanity one could think of before disappearing into the waves of mist that shrouded the town centre. "You gonna come or are you just gonna stand there?" I ignored Hafen's sarcastic remark and proceeded towards the entrance of the building. I greeted the Sergeant Major with a salute, which he returned with an apparent lack of sincerity.

"What is it?," he snarled. I barely resisted my urge to snigger at his short stature.

"Sir, may I ask if Professor Higgins is on the premises?"

He paused for a moment, with his light brown eyes glaring up at me. "He is indeed Corporal, but he is currently unavailable. What do you need him for?"

"Just a brief interrogative with regards to the virus, sir."

"I'm not letting a Corporal in. He's too busy to be answering questions." He bit his lower lip, with a look of irritation in his eyes. "Anything else?"

With a glare like that, it would have been clear to anyone that the man was in no mood to prolong such a conversation. "No. Thank you, sir."

I turned around and walked towards Hafen, who was apparently disgruntled with the rain pelting on his rugged yellow hair. "Johnson? Can we go now?"

I responded with a nod, and we proceeded towards the town centre. However, the fact that the conference meetings had been called off with no build up was too much of a coincidence. Alongside that, the professor's inability to have gone into depth regarding the newborns of the town was also a pressing concern. As we sought shelter in a nearby convenience store, I couldn't help but believe that the presence of the newborns was linked to the sudden change in patrol timetables and the loss of the only weekly event that had kept us updated on the town's standing.

* * *

><p><em>0202/65_

"Pregnant? Congratulations man." I gripped my mug of tea tightly. "Boy or a girl?" I forced a smile in an attempt to mask my disgust at Fisher.

"We're thinking of keeping it a secret for now. I'm so excited man! We've been planning this for months!" Private Edward Fisher. He was the medic in our squad. He was a lanky individual, but he had the ambition and determination of a true soldier. Time and time again had he been lectured by Sergeant Baker for his inane desire to be thrown on the frontlines. This great surge of anticipation has led to the occasional stray bullet being fired from his rifle, although the General's hesitation to court-martial any of the troops in Hope had saved Fisher's ass several times when it came to "accidental" friendly fire. Then again these "accidents" were never fatal, so the medical bills didn't have too harsh an impact on his wage slip. He was one of the many unfortunate tools who had their families transferred to the town. Also, considering the possibility that his child may have carried the virus at that point was nothing short of sickening.

Over a dozen men came by our squad's bunk room in the space of ten minutes. All of them were too eager to congratulate Fisher. I on the other hand was less than adamant to do so, but considering that he was a generally harmless individual I really had no choice. I really would have felt happy for Fisher at that time, but the thought of his child experiencing a painfully accelerated growth rate with the possibility of side effects was too overwhelming.

Baker peered into the bunkroom, rubbing his red goatee. "I hope I'm not too late." He grinned at Fisher, before moving in to grasp his hand. "I heard the news from Hafen. Congratulations, Private." Fisher winced at the sheer strength of Baker's hand, but managed to force a smile in return.

"Thank you, sir," he whimpered with visible relief as Baker broke away.

"How long before the big day?"

"6 months, sir."

Baker smiled broadly. "Christ, you've kept it a bloody good secret." He raised his mug of tea. "Here's to a healthy newborn."

I rolled my eyes. The term 'healthy' was a very unlikely term for a carrier of such a virus. I considered informing Professor Higgins of Fisher's child as I took a mouthful of tea. Providing Higgins with vital information in return for some intel regarding the virus seemed like a very rewarding idea. The information I was to learn, however, did not do much to ease my attitude towards REDLIGHT.

* * *

><p><em>0502/65_

"Copy that, Command," Baker droned into his receiver. It was clear from Baker's angered expression that Lt Colonel Williams was en route to perform his monthly inspection of the military campus. It was a protocol enforced by the General in order to prevent unmonitored contact being made with any third party. The preservation of intel was important and it was vital to ensure that there was no interference with the biological research conducted within the town. Despite that, it was entirely pointless. I can testify that the entrances and exits to the area were far too well defended and monitored in order to allow anyone to leave without permission. Smuggling was damn near impossible, and the only form of communication with the outside world was with the public telephone booths in the town hall. Heck, even they were monitored, and those with vital information were never allowed out of the area without being watched in one form or another. The information that the troops were briefed on was minimal at best, so letting some of us out to visit our families on the east coast was no significant risk. Any attempts to smuggle vital information would result in death.

Yep, that's right. **Death. **So you can easily guess why those sort of regulations were never violated.

"Alright, look alive people! We have the Lt Colonel en route for his inspection," Baker bellowed, before moving to his locker to begin handing out brushes, mops and all sorts of cleaning equipment. The military campus was pretty much a kip, and most COs put minimal effort into maintenance. Most of the men had adapted to the messy lifestyle and rarely bothered cleaning up after themselves. It was only after Williams' first inspection that cleaning was enforced prior to his visit, and considering that the campus was 5 minutes from the town, we only barely had enough time to restore the campus' hygiene standards to an acceptable level. By 'acceptable', I mean having the litter piled up and tossed into the woods for it to be burned after Williams' inspection.

Our squad consisted of Baker, Hafen, Fisher and I. Squads were comparatively small due to the low amount of military personnel in Hope. Only a little over a hundred men were active. Such a low number was necessary to ease surveillance and restrict the number of families planted in Hope. Had a larger amount of personnel and families been present, monitoring all of them would be damn near impossible due to the thin chain of command, not to mention the cost of food supplies to keep the fuckers fed.

One by one, we worked our way through our quarters, the hallway and eventually worked our way to helping the other personnel clean the mess hall. Believe me, cleaning up the mess of dozens of men in the space of five minutes was no simple task. Heck, by the time Williams had arrived we were still on cleaning duty, so we had to depend on the COs on campus to distract him with military jargon for a short while.

"That'll do! Get to your quarters and look busy!" Chalmers stepped forward with two Privates and had started retrieving the cleaning apparatuses. We frantically made our way to our living quarters, observing the relatively clean hallways, lavatories and bunk rooms. Now they were really only relatively clean, as no sane individual would have dared spend a night in a grubby makeshift base like ours, but it was perfectly hygienic by our standards. The occasional blotch, mark or loose tile could be easily overlooked by anyone in our army, but I was almost certain that the town council would have called for a quarantine on the spot if they so much as had a glance at the interior of the campus.

Private Hafen and I remained in our quarters for the majority of the inspection. He wasn't a very chatty individual and was unable to hold a prolonged conversation, likely due to his extreme lack of patience. So I essentially had to spend most of the time sipping a few mouthfuls of tea while staring blankly at the wall. If anything, having a conversation with a concrete wall would have probably been a wonderful and exciting experience compared to chatting with Hafen.

"Very interesting campus you have here." I looked up, locking eyes with Professor Higgins, who had just strolled into the bunk room with Baker.

"Heh, you'd want to see it when Williams isn't around." Baker's blunt nature often led to him leaking information without thinking about the consequences. Fortunately Higgins merely grinned at the comment, so it appeared to be fairly unlikely that he would go and snitch about the lackluster maintenance.

"I think I'll pass," he replied. "Ah Private, how are you?"

"Corporal," I corrected, indicating the insignia on my uniform. "I never thought you were one for military inspections, sir."

"Oh I'm not, but my timetable conflicts with that of the main research team, so they gave me the day off." He clenched his teeth. "So, I thought I would kill a bit of time by joining Williams."

I noticed the pained expression on his face, the exact same one he portrayed during the last conference meeting. "Your back still hurts, sir?"

"Ah you noticed. Yes, it's been at me for a while." He gripped his back with both of his hands, breathing heavily in an attempt to withstand the pain.

"Have you seen a doctor?," Baker pressed.

"Ah no, I just had a little fall. It really is nothing serious." He fixed his posture, attempting to conceal his pain with a weak smile, one that anyone with half a brain could have seen through.

But it was completely odd. Having a 'little fall' couldn't leave severe back pain that could last over two weeks. He could have dislocated his coccyx, or perhaps he might have damaged a nerve or two, but a 'little fall' couldn't have caused damage like that to any individual.

"Heh, fuck me, must be a brittle bone disease or something at large," Baker sneered. It was certainly a possibility considering that Higgins was probably in his fifties, but a condition like that would have left him with more than just a sore back.

"Looks real serious to me, sir. You really should see a field surgeon," I suggested.

"Oh no, I am certain the pain will fade soon."

I shrugged. Maybe he did just have a nasty fall or something. But there was a more trivial matter to discuss that had just crossed my mind at that very moment, and that was the cancelling of the weekly conference meetings. Higgins and Baker were just about to turn to leave, before I grabbed Higgins by his shoulder. "Sir, could I speak to you for a moment?"

Higgins turned towards me with a look of apprehension. "Of course." He nodded at Baker. "You can wait outside. I'll be there in a moment."

Baker waved at Hafen, who responded with an grunt. They quietly made their way out of the bunk room. I could barely hold in my laughter at the thought of Baker waiting outside with Hafen, being subject to constant awkward moments of silence and complaints due to Hafen's absurd impatience.

Higgins gripped his lower back with his left hand. "Now, what was it you wanted to dicuss?"

"I was just wondering why the conference meetings had been called off, sir."

Higgins bit his lower lip and gazed at the floor. I felt a sharp shiver run down my spine, which was more than enough of an indication that the reason behind it was harrowing enough to even drive the lead scientist of the virus into silence. "Sir?"

Higgins exhaled through his nose and tightened his grip on his lower lip. The body language he portrayed expressed a lot of anger and disgust, which was interesting if you considered his generally timid nature.

"Why? Even I'm not certain," he growled. "I have Command telling me that the meetings are a hindrance to the troops' patrol schedules." He rolled his eyes. "And on the other hand I have the shareholders of our research group telling me that I've been too generous with giving out information." At that very moment his hostility was quelled by a loud whimper, before he bent over and began stroking his back vigorously. "Fuck, I need to be more careful," he mumbled.

"You should honestly see a doctor, sir. No ordinary fall could cause that much pain."

"No. I'm fine, really," he insisted.

My curiosity was filled to the brim at that point. We had both the military command chain and the research company seeking to keep information away from us. I couldn't understand why. None of the information we had been given could have been enough to compromise our operations here. But that was when I realised that the link between the newborns in Hope and the unexpected changes in military protocols was a certain possibility, and because I had one of the big cheeses of the whole operation right in front of me, it was a perfect opportunity to extract some vital information. I waited until Higgins' pain had eased, and more importantly until he could muster the energy necessary to stand up straight.

"Sir, would it all have something to do with the newborns?"

Higgins' eyes widened. He immediately ceased maintaining eye contact and fixed his gaze on the door leading out of the bunk room. "Private, I can't be discussing the newborns at this time," he muttered softly.

"Corporal," I outlined. "Are the newborns connected?" My fascination with the children was literally taking over at that point. Previously, I had spent the vast majority of my time evading patrol schedules and looking for an open window of opportunity to sign myself out of the town so I could return home to visit my family, but my actions in Hope had changed dramatically ever since that last conference meeting.

"I honestly can't say."

I almost felt like punching the bastard. Granted that the information may have been confidential, but I couldn't help but hold a slight feeling of disgust towards this man for participating in research on newborn children. The fact that Fisher's kid would have had to participate in the aforementioned research was even more harrowing.

"So, you've been taking innocent children after birth. You've been performing experiments on them. You've allowed them to be born with a potentially dangerous virus..." I slowly moved towards the professor. "...and you won't even share the research with the men who've given you these children." Higgins' mouth motioned as if to make a response, but ultimately he was unable to utter a single word. "Is that what you're going to do to my buddy Fisher?"

My face was merely inches away from his. His hesitation to speak confirmed my initial suspicions. The newborns were definitely connected to the cancellation of the conference meetings.

"There's more to the children than you're letting on, isn't there?"

Higgins flinched. "I have to go. My apologies but it would be against regulations to share such information with unauthorised personnel," he blurted out. He wriggled himself out of my grasp and made his way to the door without uttering another word. The scuttle of footsteps outside indicated that he and Baker had left the vicinity. The brief moment of silence was interrupted when Hafen burst into the room.

"Thank fuck, I thought you were going to be in here all day." A testimonial to Hafen's impatience, considering that my conversation with Higgins had lasted no more than two minutes. "What the hell were you two talking about?"

I couldn't bring myself to discuss our conversation. For such a supposedly timid man, Higgins had proven himself to be as corrupt as the rest of the fuckers in that town, and that alone was enough to keep me quiet for the rest of the afternoon.


	4. SPEC OPS

**SPEC OPS**

* * *

><p><em>1005/65_

Fisher and I stood our ground at Gate A1_. _I leaned on the wooden wall of the cabin, eyeing up the surveillance camera attached to the steel gate.

There were a total of nine gates leading in and out of the town. When I stated in my previous entry that the entrances were extremely well defended, I honestly wasn't kidding. Each gateway was well over 20 feet high, riddled with surveillance equipment and had at least one squad standing by it at all times. Each checkpoint was literally surrounded by sandbags and barbed wire. Squads were equipped with M16 assault rifles, and had at least one individual on standby with an M40 sniper rifle. Yep, that's right, an M40. A rifle that wasn't even used by military personnel in Vietnam until 1966, and we had full access to the prototypes. Since Baker had the best shot in our squad, he was lumbered with the ranged rifle and had to hold his ground at a concealed post over 200 meters away. We kept in contact with a receiver, and I was put in charge of monitoring the gate.

The last few months were uneventful. I made a few unsuccessful attempts to fetch another meeting with Higgins. However as time went on, my interest in the virus waned, and I managed to slip home for a week in March. Now that it had been two months since I've seen my family at that point, I had once again made trying to fetch a plane home my top priority. At least, I had for a while.

I peered into the cabin, rolling my eyes at Hafen as he burrowed his head into the palms of his hands. "Bored?"

"Yeah," he moaned. "Any chance I could open the gate? Y'know, make something interesting happen?" He indicated the gate controls.

"Negative. Unless you want another bullet up your ass."

"I think I'll pass," he muttered. I barely resisted the urge to start bursting out laughing at the recollection of his left ass cheek being ripped asunder due to Fisher's itchy trigger finger during the last week of March. The accidents may have never been fatal, but they were certainly unforgettable.

"I spot a civilian moving towards your position," Baker announced.

"Is he armed?," I asked, gripping the mic of the receiver tightly. I stole a glance at Hafen, who had just sat up to fetch his assault rifle with commendable pace. I could easily tell that the sleazy prick was just finding an excuse to keep away from the controls for as long as possible.

"Negative, but he's moving fast. Intercept him."

"We're on it." I deactivated the mic and made my way outside, only to find Fisher with his rifle pointed towards a tiny figure in the distance. His index finger was caressing the trigger of his rifle. "Hold your fire until we've identified him," I ordered. Fisher turned towards me with clear disgust, not surprising when you considered his lust for firefights.

The three of us stood by the checkpoint for a full minute before the civilian had finally arrived. He was a young and fairly overweight man, who wore a tattered brown shirt with green combat trousers.

"Identify yourself," I demanded. Hafen and Fisher had their sights set on the civilian, anxiously clenching the handguards of their rifles.

The man was exhausted, and had to wait to catch his breath before he could speak. Considering that he had managed to sprint all the way from town, especially with such warm temperatures on this side of the state, it would have completely changed my stereotypical views of overweight people if he had stuck around for longer than he did.

"Help me," he wheezed.

"Civilians aren't allowed this far out without a signed permit," Fisher stated, waving his rifle at the trespasser.

"Please, hang on." He paused to catch his breath. "You've gotta let me out of here. These people, they're fucking sick."

"Who's sick?," I pressed.

"Those scientists. Everything about them is fucking sick, man." He glared at our assault rifles. "Hang on, please listen to me."

"Just don't come any closer, and we won't hurt you," Hafen shouted. His distinctive impatience was getting the better of him.

"No, you have get me out of here. Please! They took my fucking son, man! I need to get help from the outside."

I lowered my rifle. "The scientists took your child?"

"He was only born a goddamn week ago," he sobbed. "Once the research company found out they sent four army men to take him away this morning."

I couldn't help but notice his ripped shirt. The torn fabric suggested that he was probably in a fight. "Did you resist?"

"Yeah, the fuckers dragged me outside," he sniffed. "That's when I got loose."

Fisher stepped forward, horrified by the tale he just heard. "What did they want with him?"

"Tests. Fucking tests," he whimpered. "He's only a week old." The civilian fell to his knees, tears dripping down his face. "Please, just let me out of-" His begs for freedom were interrupted as the right side of his head exploded. Lumps of meat and bone flew into the air, saturating the ground with blood. Within seconds he slumped over to the side, exposing the gaping wound and the bullet that had mutilated his skull.

"The fuck!" Hafen dived for cover, prepping his rifle over the sandbags. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Probably rebels! They're striking from a distance!" Not only was Fisher's insinuation completely far-fetched, but his decision to remain in the open waving his rifle around was equally as senseless.

Within moments, I retreated to the cabin and activated the receiver. "Sir! What the fuck was that all about? We were supposed to intercept him, not fucking murder him," I screamed into the mic. My blood was literally boiling at that moment. The intense surge of adrenaline that flowed through my body enraged me. I almost felt like sprinting towards Baker's position and riddling it with gunfire.

"That wasn't me," he droned.

"Then who the hell was it?"

"The shot came from...I reckon a tenth of a klick, west from your position. I can't pinpoint the assailant." The tone of his voice was surprisingly calm, and Baker had always been a bit of a blunt individual, so at that point I really couldn't imagine that he was the shooter. "Get into cover until I say it's clear."

"Understood," I hissed. I rested against the wall and took a moment to ease my anger. Although it may seem that I was overreacting, actually seeing someone's head get split open after almost a year of pointless military patrols and exercises was incredibly startling.

"Contact!" Fisher's scream was followed by sharp snaps of gunfire.

"Fuck me! Tell Fisher to cease fire! Quickly!" The fact that Baker actually expressed concern over Fisher's gunfire, rather than just shrugging it off with a chuckle as he usually did, indicated that he may have actually shot a significant individual.

Using whatever adrenaline that still flowed through my system, I ran out of the cabin shouting at Fisher to hold his fire. Unfortunately, my orders were clearly not audible over the thunderous claps of gunfire, considering that Fisher still maintained his blind assault. I glanced in the direction he was aiming at and cocked my eyebrow at the lack of any visible targets.

Within seconds, the deafening sounds of gunfire ceased while he burrowed his left hand into his satchel to fetch another magazine. Hafen rose out of cover and grabbed Fisher's arm. "Eddie, quit shooting! There's nothing there!"

"There is! I saw someone over there! I'm sure he had a weapon!" He pointed at a patch of bushes in the distance. Even if someone had made it out this far, it would have been extremely unlikely that they could have concealed themselves without being spotted by Baker. Hope may have been a lush location, but the town harbored most of the forestland, and significant patches of foliage were too scarce in this area to have facilitated any stealth. Or at least that's what I thought.

I grabbed the sling of my rifle and swung it over my shoulder, before digging my hand into my pocket to retrieve a pair of 5x binoculars. "Wait a sec," I whispered. I focused in on the foliage of the bushes, spotting several blotches of blood on the leaves. "I'll be damned." I turned to my two subordinates, who were just as puzzled as I was. "Fisher, you're with me."

"What did you see?"

"Blood. Stay low and don't shoot unless I tell you to." We crouched and proceeded towards the bushes, leaving Hafen behind mumbling and cursing at the prospect of being left alone at the checkpoint.

The trek took a little over 2 minutes, and we had our sights set on the gap between the leaves for the entire journey. Despite my orders to hold fire, I couldn't help but worry that Fisher would have bombarded the position with gunfire before we had a chance to identify the assailant. Thankfully the journey proceeded without incident, and I felt extremely relieved as we closed in on the anomaly.

"I swear to fucking god, I'm going to have you bastards shot for insubordination." Fisher and I halted upon hearing the assailant's growls, maintaining our aims on the gap. A dark green figure rose from the bushes, carrying an M40 rifle. The assailant wore a dark, camouflaged uniform and bore several green markings on his face. His left arm was soaked with blood, and the wound in his lower arm continued to seep additional trails of blood down his sleeve.

"Insubordination? You're not our com-" I raised my hand to quieten Fisher, and proceeded towards the sniper.

"Identify yourself," I demanded.

"Staff Sergeant Healey, Special Forces, and I need to know why the fuck you shot me." I was almost going to correct him in order to save myself from being disbanded in Fisher's place, but it eventually dawned on me that it was Baker who had failed to inform us that special forces were operating in the area.

"Sorry sir. We weren't informed that you were in the area," I replied, lowering my rifle.

"Do you need medical attention?" Fisher stepped forward with his medical satchel.

"No, forget it. I'm going to have Baker's ass on a stick for this. Get back to your posts." Healey gripped his arm, shuffled his way through the bushes and sprinted off into the distance before his dark, gritty figure concealed itself in the depths of grassland that surrounded the checkpoint.

"He probably won't get far with an injury like that," Fisher grumbled nervously. It was understandable that Fisher was completely tense at that point, considering that it was the first time he had managed to deal a significant blow to another individual, rather than the usual flesh wound caused by his itchy trigger finger during military exercises.

"He's part of Spec Ops, he'll be fine."

* * *

><p><em>1105/65_

I was called back to the campus before I had even managed to so much as say a word to Baker. The man had been absent for the whole evening as well as that morning. My primary concern was why the civilian was shot despite that he had no firearms on him. Another concern was that Baker did not inform us that another sniper was in the vicinity. What was even more puzzling was the fact that Special Forces had been assigned to kill the civilian, when Baker could have easily taken the shot himself, or have ordered us to take care of it instead. Granted I would have been hesitant at first, but even Baker would have known that Fisher would have had no second thought at shooting down a target. There were so many topics I wanted to discuss with Baker, but at that time it seemed as if he was too busy being lectured by Healey for allowing his subordinates to open fire on a friendly sniper.

The sound of Hafen's vacant cup slamming down on the table in the mess hall was the only thing that could have caught my attention at that very moment, especially when you considered his bland, monotone voice. "Peter, you want some tea or not?"

"Nah, I'm good."

He snorted, grabbed his cup and made his way towards the canteen. The food on campus was mediocre at best. Most of the time we were forced to live off boiled potatoes and lumps of chicken. Initially they weren't terrible meals but as time went on, the monotony of consuming the same food almost every day became a nuisance. Every now and again a different meal would be served, such as ham and turkey or stir-fried spinach, which was simply delightful compared to munching on chicken that tasted as if it had expired a month prior to its serving. In most cases, I ended up having to fix my own meals.

I turned to Fisher, who was glaring at his mug of tea, presumably thinking about the friendly fire he had caused the day before. "You alright?"

"Yeah, couldn't be better," he droned. It came as a clear shock to me. Fisher had never reminisced on these kind of incidents with such a depressing tone. It was probably just the sight of so much blood that had frightened him_, _since all of the injuries he had seen (or caused) were very minor_. _Knowing him, I shrugged it off thinking that he would soon reverse back into the perky man that he had always been.

"Thinking about the sniper?" I reckoned that addressing the matter would have cheered him up a bit.

"Yeah."

"You didn't know he was military personnel, Eddie. Don't beat yourself up over it." I fetched my ham and cheese sandwich from my travel bag and took a bite, satisfied by the crunch it emitted as my teeth ripped through the lettuce tucked in beneath the bread.

Fisher remained silent, glaring at his mug of tea. He closed his eyes and held his breath. "...it's not that. It's the civilian he shot."

"That guy?" I took another bite out of my sandwich. "Yeah, poor bastard," I muffled. "I still have to talk to Sarge about that."

"It wasn't the fact that he was shot that scared me." He dug his nails into his scalp. "It's just that I feel so stupid."

"Stupid?" I was literally dumbfounded at that stage. "Why?"

"It's just how frantic he was acting once his son had been taken away for tests, y'know?" Gallons of sweat were pouring out of him. He couldn't maintain any eye contact and kept jumbling up his words. It was evident that he was very stressed and for obvious reasons.

"You're worried about your own kid, huh?" While I couldn't help but feel downright terrible for Fisher, I was slightly chuffed at the fact that someone had finally expressed disgust at the prospect of newborns being taken away for biological research.

"Of course I fucking am," he muttered angrily. His brief burst of anger degraded into a soft sob, as he delved his head into his hands. "I'm sorry, man. I just can't believe that this sort of shit is happening. I didn't know they fucking take the kids from you while they're still so young." He raised his head. His face was blood red, covered with the moisture left by his tears. "I've got to get them out of here."

"Do the authorities know your wife is pregnant?" It was a largely pointless question, since the strict monitoring of the entire town would have alerted the scientists anyway.

"I don't know. They probably do."

"Then you're stuck here. That virus is their priority, and any potential test subjects won't even be considered for release."

"Fuck," he mumbled. Seeing as my family was tucked away safely in Florida, I couldn't really imagine the level of shit that must have been going through Fisher's mind at that point. I decided to postpone the conversation, and returned to my lunch.

* * *

><p><em>2005/65_

Over an entire week had passed since we had last seen Baker. Our squad was put on standby temporarily by Chalmers, so we were stuck strolling around the campus with nothing remotely productive to do for the entire period.

"Hey baby." I caressed the phone booth with my index finger as I greeted my wife Gemma. I met her at my second year at college, before dropping out to work with my uncle at a garage in Tallahassee. Back then, we kept in contact frequently and we eventually hit it off at a club three years ago, which incidentally led to her getting pregnant with twins. Unfortunately, my contact with her had been severed ever since Baker disappeared.

"You promised you would call once a week." She was enraged, and I really couldn't have blamed her. The stress of coping with two kids while your husband was on duty couldn't have been an enjoyable experience. "I thought you might have been hurt."

"I'm sorry. I'm okay though. There's no need to worry." It was a fruitless attempt to comfort her, but it was better than saying nothing. "How's Jake and Tyler?"

"They're at school right now, but they're hanging in there." She sighed heavily. "They miss you. A lot."

"Tell them I was asking for them."

"Sure, as usual," she replied sarcastically. I groaned, thrusting my forehead into the phone box. "What was that?"

"Nothing." Talking with her was becoming a sharp pain in the ass. I understood that she was worried about me, but the gradual decrease in affection in our phone conversations was getting to me.

"Why the fuck didn't you call last week?"

"I couldn't get anywhere near the town hall without Sergeant Baker." Access to specific areas around the town was forbidden unless the officer in your squad was present. It was a completely ridiculous regulation, but the Lieutenant Colonel had no intention of changing it for the benefit of his soldiers. At first, I had chanced asking a few other officers to grant me access to the town hall, but they were too worried about having their wages cut rather than helping another man in need.

"Why? Where is he?"

"I don't know, baby. He's been missing ever since our last patrol."

"Why? What happened?" The constant interrogatives were becoming extremely aggravating, but I decided to mask my irritation in order to avoid being lectured for the rest of the conversation.

"I can't say. I'm sorry, baby. All I can say is that bad shit went down, and he hasn't been around for the whole week."

"I don't believe this! I spent the last week scared shitless because I thought you got fucking shot, and you won't even fucking tell me what the hell is going on," she sobbed.

"Gemma, wai-"

"No, forget it. Go fuck yourself." The line died almost immediately.

"_Goodbye, I love you_," I whispered satirically.

I made my way out of the room and proceeded towards the reception. I walked slowly towards Chalmers, who was talking with the receptionist, and patted him on the back.

"Thanks, sir. I really appreciate it."

He nodded in response, and turned back to the receptionist to continue their conversation. Despite how much of a little briar the man could be at times, he had certainly earned my respect for the time being.

I pushed open the double doors of the building and made my way halfway down the concrete stairs, until the presence of a bulky hardheaded individual at the end of the stairs caught my attention. That individual was good ol' Sergeant Baker.

"Sir?"

"Johnson." He greeted me with a nod.

"Sir?" I stood my ground, gazing at him as he continued up the stairs, before he brushed past me to make his way to the entrance. "Where have you been?"

"Can't say a word to anyone." I was never one for letting such information slip by without some investigation.

"Getting your ass hounded by the Lieutenant Colonel?"

He froze on the last step, as the muscles in his back tightened. He slowly turned towards me with an extremely disgruntled look on his face. While the average trooper would have immediately fled in terror, I knew the man well enough to know that he did not condone violence, despite his frighteningly huge build. I was confident enough to continue my line of questioning.

"You knew Staff Sergeant Healey was there, didn't you?"

"That's none of your goddamn business, Corporal." That was among the very few instances he had ever addressed me by my rank. It was clear to me that the conversation was going to to be far from friendly.

"We saw an innocent man get his head mashed by an M40 rifle. I believe we're entitled to know, sir."

"I'm not saying a fucking word to you. Take your head out of your ass and get out of here," he jeered.

"I'm not leaving until I get some fucking answers," I snarled. I was on the verge of losing it. At that point, not even my closest ally was trustworthy.

He cocked his head down and sighed. Baker had never been picky when it came to discussing information, so it was painfully clear to me that the information he was hiding must have been of some significance to him. That being said, if it was of _some_ significance to him, it was probably extremely vital to just about everybody else. "We can't talk about it right now. Get back to your quarters," he grumbled. He diverted his eyes to the right, signaling me to the surveillance camera overlooking the entrance. It didn't take me much more than two seconds to acknowledge what he was implying.

"Yes, sir." Instead of sticking around and making the situation needlessly complicated, I made my way out of the area immediately. However, the journey back to the campus was not a very peaceful one. My mind was riddled with several possibilities of the outcome of Baker's sudden reappearance. His decision to remain quiet was particularly concerning, but had I known the reason behind his disappearance earlier than I had found out, I probably would have ended up sprinting towards the nearest checkpoint in an attempt to escape the nightmare that would await me.

* * *

><p><em>0106/65_

Another week without Baker. Another week of standing around and doing nothing to ease our boredom. When Williams had arrived for his inspection two days earlier, I was more than adamant to aid in the cleaning effort. Mainly because it was a thousand times more enjoyable than being subject to Hafen's awkward aura in our quarters.

"This sucks." Hafen's excessive whining was one of the reasons I detested spending much more than ten minutes in our quarters.

"We heard you the first hundred times, man," Fisher scolded. Ironically, it was clear that Fisher was also incredibly bored due to the build up of anger he had gained over the last week. However, spending such a prolonged period of time without any exercises or assignments was indeed painfully dull. All we could really do to marginally ease our boredom was listen to the radio in the mess hall, or jog to and fro around the town as a makeshift form of exercise.

I turned to Fisher. "You want to walk down to the mess hall?"

"For what?"

I shrugged. "Because we have nothing better to do?"

"Sure. It beats talking with him," he sneered. Hafen merely rolled his eyes in response, and proceeded to snuggle into the covers of his camp bed as we made our way out of the room.

I peered into the room occupied by Alpha Six, tittering as I mentally compared it to the little skip in the woods that we reserved for burning litter. As any one of us would have expected, the neighboring bunkrooms were literally caked with litter, grime and all sorts of muck. I was pretty much used to seeing such messes, and our bunkroom was arguably one of the more hygienic living quarters.

We made our way to the mess hall, pausing on the odd occasion to observe the cesspits the other squads called their quarters. As we closed in on the noise polluted establishment, Fisher disappeared into the mass of troopers gathering at the canteen. I spent at least a minute searching for a place to sit, before stumbling upon an almost vacant table, with merely one seat occupied. I stood there, gazing at the occupant as he tucked into a plate of chicken and stir-fried spinach.

That occupant was Sergeant Baker.


	5. INTEL

**INTEL**

* * *

><p><em>0106/65_

I have to admit that I was fairly frustrated at Baker for popping up out of the blue again. The sight of him horsing down the leftovers of his food rather than checking up on his squad was just as aggravating.

"Nice to see you, sir."

Baker turned to me, exposing a tad too much of the half munched lumps of chicken in his mouth. "Johnson," he muffled with a concerned look on his face.

"I hope you're enjoying your meal." I tried my best to ignore the splutters he emitted as he continued to gnaw at his food. "I think you might need to learn some table manners, sir."

He snorted, before taking a mouthful of his tea and pointing to the chair opposite him. "Sit."

I sat myself down in the wooden chair and took a moment to make myself comfortable. The chairs in the mess hall were fairly sturdy, but as a result they had extremely hard surfaces, so it took most people a minute or two before they could even consider relaxing in the damn things. I sat forward and folded my arms, watching Baker as he finished off a few scrapes of spinach.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation," he muttered.

"Pretty much, but I think Eddie and M-"

"Fuck them," he interrupted. "You're the only man here that I really trust, so I'm telling you and you only." He pushed his plate aside and rested his elbows on the table. "But I need you to swear that you'll keep your mouth shut about what I'm about to tell you, y'hear?"

His response had me worried. I was left wondering about why this information was so important that not even Baker could share it with his own squad. Nevertheless I was adamant to listen, and I would have eventually ended up regretting it. "Of course. Your secret is safe with me," I beamed.

"Right." He sat up and began stroking his goatee. "Yeah. I knew that Healey was there. Heck, if it weren't for me he wouldn't have made it in the first place."

"And why is that?"

He paused for a moment. "Because I was told that he was going to be there."

It was completely absurd. Special Forces usually wouldn't have shared their objectives with a fireteam. "When? No, who told you? No-" I couldn't really construct a legitimate question, due to the amount of them that were racing through my mind as he continued to explain.

"I was told by Professor Higgins. He contacted me through my receiver right before I set my sights on the civilian."

"So, Higgins wanted him dead?"

Baker paused again, with a clear look of apprehension. "Yes, but he wanted Healey to get it done. It would have been more discreet that way, until Fisher got trigger-happy." He sat back and folded his arms. "So, Healey went ahead and took the shot while you were busy buttering up Mr. John Doe."

"So that was his name," I sniggered, ironically unaware at the time that 'John Doe' was a term used to refer to unidentified individuals. "But why would Higgins, of all people, want an innocent man dead?"

"Well, that's the thing. The man wasn't entirely innocent. He was actually a military man a while back, before he was disbanded for sticking his nose in places it didn't belong." I felt nauseous at that very moment, silently praying that I wouldn't end up losing my post for a similar reason. "He also withheld his child from the military for an entire week after his birth. If you couple that with his knowledge of fairly vital intelligence, the higher-ups had a solid enough reason to kill him."

"I don't understand. What's wrong with holding a child off for a week?"

Baker paused for the third time, continuously motioning his mouth as if to speak. "I-I'm not sure," he finally mumbled. He looked away, and began shuffling through his left breast pocket. "I'm supposed to give this to Chalmers, but I suppose I can show you before I give it up." He scoped the room, trying to pick out anyone who may have been looking at him, but eventually maintained eye contact again. "This is some pretty incriminating shit. I'm risking a lot showing this to you."

My curiosity was egging me on. "I swear, I won't tell a soul."

He retrieved a small sepia-toned photograph and handed it to me. "This was taken at John Does' house." I squinted my eyes to make out the image, but eventually I handed the photo back to Baker as I finally made out the scene in the photo. I looked away, quivering as the photo burned a gaping hole in my conscience, leaving a scar that would have taken years to fade away. The harrowing scene displayed on that very piece of photographic film kept flashing through my mind. The photograph consisted of a young woman lying on a concrete floor with her dress drenched with fresh blood, the source being her throat, which had been ripped open violently. Her face was completely emotionless, as her lifeless eyes gazed at the camera.

"Jesus Christ," I gasped. "Did this bastard kill his own wife?"

Baker slowly nodded his head. "So they say. He didn't seem to be the sort of man who would kill one of his own family, but Healey has the autopsy. All I got was this photo and a brief summary of the incident. Probably just to stop me from getting the wrong impression. I never knew they cared about their rep that much," he smirked.

Baker's meager attempt at humor failed to alleviate my anxiety. "Sir, what are we going to do about Eddie?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "His wife is due to deliver in August. But, Fisher is a cool enough bloke. I doubt he'd be dismayed enough to end up like Mr. Doe."

The problem was that he didn't understand. Fisher might have reverted to his old disposition, but his frantic outburst following the incident at the checkpoint had me worried. I could never really have understood the full extent of the mental trauma Eddie was suffering from, but I did know that it was something to be concerned about.

"Where is he now?"

"Over there." I indicated the mass of men at the canteen.

"Alright then. If he starts to act up, make sure you let someone know." Baker stood. "I should be back on duty by tomorrow. Just stick around here until I get back, alright?"

I nodded in response. Baker turned and strolled towards the exit, dodging the personnel swarming the tables around the canteen. I was left there, shaking as I struggled to rid myself of all recollection of the photograph. I felt my blood boil up at the thought of the gruesome scene. I initially figured that witnessing a man's head explode was the worst of what I could have seen in Hope, but I was really only scratching the surface at the time.

* * *

><p><em>2007/65_

Everything was back to normal following Baker's return to the squad. We rarely acknowledged our previous conversation in public, and information with regards to REDLIGHT remained as scarce as ever. I had over an entire month to try and forget about the events that took place in May and in early June, but I continued to struggle in focusing my mind on anything else. Even thinking of my family did nothing to take the cumbersome load off my conscience.

"Would you cut that shit out?" Hafen and Fisher gazed at me from Gate B3's cabin, tightening their grips on the pornographic magazine they had spent the last ten minutes scanning through.

"Aw come on Peter, we've been here for almost seven hours. We're just having a little break," Fisher whined.

"Just a bit of 'polite' porn," Hafen snickered.

"You guys have families, and you're reading goddamn Playboy?" They continued to gaze at me for a brief moment, before returning to their condemnable activity. "Come on, seriously. Baker wants us to keep alert."

Hafen mumbled some random profanity into Fisher's ear, before he returned to monitor the gate controls. Fisher stuffed the magazine into his satchel, smirking at the skimpy model printed on the magazine's cover.

Ever since Baker had returned to the squad, I had tried to discipline the others into adopting a more serious approach to their military work. Any half-wit could easily have seen that forcing such a protocol onto two of the worst men we had in the whole campus was completely meaningless, which was something I had been completely clueless of at the time.

"You've got four armed military personnel moving in on your position, led by Sergeant Killian Allan. Be ready to greet them," Baker announced over the receiver.

"Understood," I replied.

"Let me know if anything goes awry."

Fisher and I readied our rifles and proceeded towards the entrance of the checkpoint. "Stay behind the sandbags, I'll take care of the talking," I ordered, to which Fisher complied with admirable haste. It was good to see that he was still as perky as ever, or at least until he would decide to get trigger-happy in the most unfortunate of circumstances.

We stood our ground until the incoming squad arrived. The men handled the same equipment as we did, so it immediately eliminated the possibility that they were part of any special forces. They maintained a distance of about two or three meters from our position, which caught my concern for a moment. Finally, one of the troops stepped forward, bearing the insignia of a Sergeant on his uniform.

"Sir," I saluted.

"Corporal," he replied. Allan was a tall, fair-haired and slim man, presumably in his early thirties or so. "I've come to inform you that my squad will be taking things from here for the moment."

I gawked at him. "Our shift isn't finished for another four hours, sir."

"Yes, well we've received orders to take things from here for now. You and your squad are to return to base immediately." He handed me a crumpled brown letter, bearing Sergeant Major Chalmer's signature, as well as some poorly written orders with regards to the installation of "Fireteam Bravo 3" at Gate B3. The handwriting was a pure frustration to decode, seeming more like a series of scribbles than an official order.

"So you're Bravo 3, huh?"

Allan merely nodded in response. "Chalmers seemed fairly adamant to haul you back to the campus, so I wouldn't delay him if I were you." Considering that the little briar didn't even have the time necessary to inscribe remotely understandable vocabulary into the letter was clear proof of that.

"Understood."

* * *

><p><em>2107/65_

In spite of the fact that Chalmers had personally sought for our early return to the campus, we hadn't seen him for the rest of that evening. Not even Baker was informed of such an unexpected turn of events. The last modification of our timetable was merely a few days ago, so we were left fairly curious with regards to the reason behind our recalling.

"Chalmers wants to see us," Baker interrupted as I had starting tucking into my bowl of muesli.

"Right now?," I gargled.

"Yes." He looked at Hafen and Fisher as they rose from their seats. "As in, just me and Peter."

"Really?" Fisher and Hafen glanced at one another in confusion.

"Can't he wait for just five minutes?"

"No, we have to meet him now. Let's go."

"Fuck this," I grumbled. In spite of how sickly the average man would have been eating Muesli, my appetite was high enough to the point that even such an underwhelming meal looked like a plate of steak and fries to me. I stood and followed Baker through the mess hall, until we made our way out into the hallway. "Why couldn't he have just met us last night?"

"Beats me," he shrugged. "Probably just busy."

"Well, he had enough time on his hands to call us back early." Baker shrugged again, apparently not paying any heed to what I was saying.

"In here." We strolled into a small room that was no larger than our bunkroom, containing a few filing cabinets, two weapon lockers and a worn, wooden desk. Chalmers stood at the back of the room, gazing out the window. "You wanted to see us, sir?," Baker asked.

"No. Not me, anyway," he stated as he continued to glare outside.

I felt like turning around and returning to the mess hall to continue enjoying my breakfast, at least until the door behind us snapped open. We turned to face Lieutenant Colonel Williams, who had responded to our observation with a coy nod. "Sergeant...Corporal." He avoided forming any eye contact with me, which suggested that he hadn't forgotten about our little quarrel earlier that year.

"I should be on my way sir," Chalmers suggested.

"Of course." Williams rested himself on the edge on the office desk, right as Chalmers brushed his way past me. I kept my eyes on Williams as he scanned through the contents of a brown folder left on the desk. The door behind us slammed shut, which was followed by a momentary, albeit eerie silence.

"Alright then, gentlemen." Williams' deep, Texan accent didn't make listening to him much of a joy.

"Margaret," I murmured.

His eyes locked onto me. "Did you say something, Corporal?"

"No sir," I announced. Many of the troops garrisoned here referred to Williams' middle name as means of satire, with Fisher being the most vocal of them all. He even went as far to literally scream it out during some of the conference meetings we had prior to their cancellation in January. I wouldn't have been surprised if that was actually the reason they were called off in the first place, had I avoided having that little conversation with Higgins in our bunkroom.

"I don't want to hold the both of you for too long, since it is rather early and I have a busy schedule ahead of me this morning." Which, in my mind, translated to how Williams had probably skipped breakfast and was just as eager as I was to cure the inevitable hunger pangs. Except that his cure would have been a plate of bacon in contrast to my sickly bowl of muesli. "You are both aware of how your squadmate, one Private Edward Fisher, has a spouse who is due to give birth in a month's time?"

"Yes sir," Baker confirmed. I, on the other hand, remained quiet for the majority of the meeting.

"Well, due to the recent increase in the birth rate in the locality, we've taken precautionary measures to ensure that each child is delivered to the research company upon birth. However, due to the fact that the majority of the most recent pregnancies resulted in miscarriages, we're taking it upon you to observe Private Fisher until we have that child in our hands. We simply can't rely on Private Fisher to remain loyal enough to give up the child, and we can't spare the men necessary to monitor him." He sat forward, glaring at Fisher's photo as if he was his next serving of fried bacon. "We need that child alive. Even if we have to rip it from his wife's womb and we most certainly don't want him trying to get involved. Is that understood?"

My stomach churned at the thought of being handed such a responsibility. Not only would I have to work alongside a research company performing exploitative tests on children, but I also had to ensure that Fisher's child was handed to the researchers upon its delivery. I would have refuted his orders, but Williams was the one who approved whether or not I, and the other twenty or so men here who had families outside Hope, could return home every few months.

"Understood, sir," Baker confirmed without so much as a tint of hesitation.

Williams directed his small, dark brown eyes at me. "And what about you, Johnson?," he frowned.

I honestly should have given the despicable pig another sock in face. Unfortunately, Baker's presence meant that I would have inevitably walked out with a shattered limb or two if I so much as even raised my hand against Williams. "Understood, sir," I muttered.

"Good." He stood, fondling the pages of the folder with his chubby fingers. "If you detect any suspicious or unusual activity from Private Fisher, do not hesitate to inform Sergeant Major Chalmers or myself. You are both dismissed, gentlemen."

We both saluted the bloated Lt Colonel and made our way back to the mess hall, without uttering a single word. As I sat down to finish my bowl of muesli, I simply couldn't keep my eyes off Fisher. All he did was just sit there, exchanging friendly banter with a group of three men on the opposite table, totally unaware of the assignment handed down to us by Williams. All I knew was that the next month or so was going to be far from joyful.

* * *

><p><em>0508/1965_

"How's the wife today, Eddie?"

"Why the hell do you keep asking me that?," Fisher scowled.

"Just wondering. Being nearly 9 months pregnant must have her in an awful state." My excuses were becoming less and less credible as each day passed. Not to mention the weight on my conscience that Williams' task has had on me for the last two weeks. Fisher merely responded with a concerned look, an expression that I had become used to seeing ever since his pregnant wife had become a priority. He returned to admiring the skimpy delights of the same Playboy magazine he had been drooling over for the last month. I'm guessing the stress over the pregnancy has had a negative impact on his love life, so I let him be.

I glanced at Baker, who was resting on his bed. All I could think of was the photo that he had shown me two months ago, and mentally comparing that scene to Fisher's wife was nothing short of sickening. Although I had only met the woman once, which was almost a year ago, thinking of her as the potential victim of such a brutal murder was harrowing. Recalling Baker's previous words with regards to John Doe...

"He didn't seem to be the sort of man who would kill one of his own family."

...failed to ease my concern over Fisher's mental state. Granted, he was as perky, hyperactive and trigger-happy as ever, but I wasn't entirely sure if the sight of his child being taken away from him was something to be passive about. Either way, we had our orders and we, as soldiers, had to perform our duties accordingly. Even if we weren't going to enjoy it in the process.

* * *

><p><em>0608/1965_

"Is something wrong?"

"Damn it," I whispered. My wife Gemma had always been an alert woman, so I really shouldn't have been surprised that my gloomy tone had been as noticeable as it apparently was. "No, everything's fine. I'm just feeling a little bit tired."

"I know that excuse far too well, Peter." And by god she did, likely due to the angsty mood I returned home in whenever I had lost a significant poker game with my uncle a few years ago. "Come on, spit it out."

I squeezed the telephone tightly as I recalled our protocol against the leakage of information, and prepared myself for a strict lecture from Gemma. "I can't say, I'm sorry baby. All I can say is..." I paused, just as that very same photo flashed through my mind, with an impact resonating that of a streak of lightning striking the earth. "...something's up with my squad."

"Reassignment?"

"Something like that. Yeah."

"Right." I could easily tell that she knew that I was lying, but she had probably gotten used to it at that point considering the vast amount of times I had stalled information in our conversations. "I'll be sure to tell the kids you called."

"Great. I should be home sometime next week if things go smoothly."

"That's good to hear. You take care now, y'hear?"

"I will, don't worry."

"I love you."

"Love you too, baby. See you soon."

See you soon? Quite possibly one of the biggest lies I had ever told her.

"Excuse me." A soft, ghastly voice caught my attention as I readied myself to depart from the booth. I turned to face the young girl who had called upon me. She seemed to be an adolescent, possibly in her mid teens, with long orange hair. She was astonishingly pale and she donned a light blue dress. I had difficulty maintaining eye contact with her, since her blank expression reminded me of the emotionless face of Mr. Doe's deceased wife. "Are you Private Peter Johnson?"

"Corporal Peter Johnson, " I corrected. "At your service."

"I was told by a man called Professor Higgins to tell you to go to the field hospital." Which immediately explained why she had mistaken my rank. What it didn't explain was why Higgins would call upon me, in spite of my intrusive nature.

"I see. What does he need me for?"

"I don't know. He just told me you were here and that he needed to see you right away."

"Sure thing." I gathered my belongings and made my way to the door.

"Mr. Johnson?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know why they take away children that are born here?" I shuddered as her inanely timorous, yet intimidating voice rang through my ears.

"I'm sorry, I haven't the slightest idea." As I gripped the door handle, I felt a slight shiver flow down my spine, before I turned to face the girl a second time. She gazed at me, displaying almost the exact same body language she expressed when she had first walked in. "I'm sorry, but I never caught your name?" It was a question that I would soon come to regret asking.

"Oh how rude of me. My mother always tells me that I should introduce myself before I address another person."

"...I see." Her needlessly polite nature merely fuelled my anxiousness to storm out of the building.

"My name is Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth?"

"Yes," she chanted. "Elizabeth Greene."


	6. CONSPIRACY

**CONSPIRACY**

* * *

><p><em>0608/65_

I finally made my way out of the town hall, noticing Baker's absence from the area. I assumed that he had already departed for the field hospital before I finished my conversation with my wife. I made my way through the town square, observing how the locality were completely oblivious to the ten or so armed personnel in the area, until I had made it to the outskirts.

The journey lasted a solid ten minutes, before I sighed with relief as the tent-like shelters of the field hospital came into view. At least over a dozen tents were present in the lush valley. The entire hospital was surrounded by a mass of forests, with the only barren area being the road that I had been following for the whole ten minutes. I had only been out this side of the town on a few occasions, so the sight of so much foliage was a tad mesmerizing.

"Corporal Johnson?" I was approached by a Staff Sergeant with the sling of an M16 resting on his right shoulder.

"Corporal Peter Johnson, reporting for duty sir," I saluted.

"Staff Sergeant Sam Hendrick. Better known as the man that your friend Fisher shot," he smiled.

I paused for a moment, briefly recalling the events in May. "I was certain that Private Fisher shot a special forces operative, sir? A Staff Sergeant Healey?"

"Well, 'Healey' is actually my call sign. Staff Sergeant Hendrick is my real title."

"Sir," I bellowed. "On behalf of my squad, I would like to apologize for the unintentional friendly fire!" Funnily enough, I had only just realized that it was far too late to be apologizing. Since it remained so fresh in my mind, I had forgotten that it had been almost three months since the incident at Gate A1.

"Don't mention it. Sergeant Baker had already apologized on your behalf. Professor Higgins wants to see you, urgently." He indicated one of the tents to the far right. "He's just in there with Sergeant Baker, just go up to the little opening there and see if he's ready to see you."

"I will. Thank you, sir." I was astounded by how civil Healey was being at the time, however it is arguable that his disorientating attitude towards us at Gate A1 was completely understandable. Getting a bullet to the arm from a firearm as powerful as an M16 would probably provoke any individual, so long as the aforementioned limb isn't torn off in the process.

As I approached the tent, I could detect a series of strangely familiar grumbling, consisting of largely inaudible profanity. "Hafen?," I called out.

"Peter?" Hafen gazed at me as I peered into the tent. He sat on one of the plastic chairs with his arms folded. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"I was at the town hall making a phone call. Why are you here?"

"Baker dragged me all the way up here before I could even get near the phones. It's been two weeks since I've spoken to Daisy, man." He shook his head furiously. Fortunately, Baker's departure from Higgins' tent gave me an ample opportunity to avoid Hafen's ranting.

"You're up next," he winked. I approached the hole he had emerged from, catching a glimpse of Professor Higgins inside.

"Ah, Private!" Higgins' exuberant tone put me off my attempt to correct his usual mispronunciation of my rank. "Would you mind zipping that hole down?"

"Sure." I zipped down the opening, which had only left me paranoid that I would gradually end up with information that I would regret learning. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. My sincere apologies for having to send that little hippie to fetch you. Those blasted youths are a pure waste of time, if you ask me."

"You mean Ms. Greene?" I vividly recalled her pale skin tone as well as her basic choice in fashion. "She seems more like a churchgoer to me."

"Yes, well her parents are very vocal 'hipsters', as they like to call themselves. It's of no concern anyway. Her family is only here temporarily, since her father is off to Vietnam soon."

"Right." I scanned the contents of the room, noticing an abundance of folders and wooden filing cabinets. "You must keep a lot on record here, sir."

"Yes, although it's mainly just papers on the locals. Their ethnicity, gender, marital status and so on." Higgins retrieved one of the folders on his desk, before uncovering a stapled set of documents from it. "But there is one individual in particular that you and I need to discuss."

I felt my stomach churn as I caught a glimpse of the front page of the document. "Private Fisher, sir?"

"No, actually." He started flipping through the pages of the document. "You'll be monitoring his wife from now on." He pinched the top of the document and passed it to me. I looked through the details of the page until I came to read the line: '**Subject:** Anne Fisher.' "I believe you know the woman?"

"Yeah, we've spoken before. But, aren't we supposed to keep an eye on Eddie?"

"Yes, I'm well aware of your current assignment by Colonel Williams. However, Sergeant Baker has yet to report signs of any aggressive or frantic disposition from Edward Fisher." He slouched and firmly gripped the lower end of his back. "So, it would probably be more productive that you keep an eye on his wife instead."

"But, why? Surely she could just call for assistance when she's giving birth."

Higgins nodded slowly. "Yes, she could. But we simply can't take any risks. The majority of recent miscarriages had been as a result of natural childbirth. It is vital that she is in an appropriate medical facility while she is going into labor. We need each and every subject in the field hospital to minimize any chances of a stillborn." He sat forward and folded his arms. "The more live subjects we have, the more accurate our work on REDLIGHT will be."

I could feel a lump sprout in my throat. I was being fed more bullshit on REDLIGHT, and this time it would actually end up affecting someone close to me. I'm not necessarily referring to Anne, but rather to Eddie. As he had demonstrated before, Edward had a very soft spot for his family. If his wife were to give birth in the field hospital while he was on a patrol or, even worse, installed at a gate checkpoint, he would without a doubt end up breaking down again. Also, when you consider the shit that has already been spilled about the virus, he would have probably ended up going hysterical if the child had died. I continued to scan through the documents, which contained information on 15 previous deliveries. I wasn't surprised to see that the status of each subject had been blotched out with a black marker.

"Private?" Higgins slowly rose from his seat as I continued to read through each profile.

I looked up, ignoring his typical neglect for stating my correct rank. "Sir, how many newborns survived delivery so far?"

"Tsk, this tosh again." Higgins stepped back, caressing his back. "I won't stand here and be subject to your interrogatives. Not like last time." He turned to me. "You know bloody well that the information I possess is far too important to share with anyone outside of our chain of command. I was paid to come here and help monitor this project, not to negotiate with the likes of you."

"Well let me put it to you this way," I frowned. "You're expecting me to keep an eye on one of your guinea pigs for the next month and you won't even show a bit of common decency." Higgins' eyes widened, clearly stunned by my display of charisma. "_I_ was paid to come here and help the military prevent any potential uprisings that the people might bring upon this town, not to look after your fucking test subjects." I stepped forward and threw the set of documents at Higgins, who merely whimpered as it collided with his chest. "Now you can either answer my questions or you can get someone else to do it, and believe me, Fisher won't be stupid enough to ignore any other men being around his wife."

"Well then," he exhaled nervously. "I never knew you had such a resolute range of vocabulary, nor did I think you were so observant. You would probably be a decent philosopher." He crouched down to gather the clutters of paper pages on the ground. "However, Private Johnson, I do believe that you know that the Lieutenant Colonel is very stingy with sending individuals with significant intel home?"

I paused, gritting my teeth as I remembered that I was due to return home within a matter of weeks. "I think he's stingy with sending anyone home. He changes our timetables so frequently, it won't be long before no one can leave the damn place."

"Ah yes. I believe a small, yet significant portion of the men here do not have their families stationed here," he boasted. "I myself have a family near to the east coast." He approached one of the filing cabinets and stored the documents between a row of tossed and tattered papers. "Since General Stillwell is adamant to keep as many troops here as possible, it is not surprising that you value the little freedom you have." His pretentious tone was beginning to irritate me. "Since I am one of the head scientists on the REDLIGHT team, it would be safe to assume that I have quite a bit of influence here. Wouldn't you agree?"

I bit my lip, contemplating whether to continue arguing, or just acknowledge the point he was clearly making. "Yeah. I know what you're getting at."

"Individuals with vital knowledge of our operations here are rarely let outside. The only times I get to see my wife and my daughter is when they come here to visit, and their last visit had been well over six months ago." Despite his frail appearance and his nervous disposition, Higgins certainly had his way of intimidating others. "I can't leave because of what I know and what I've done. The higher ups simply can't risk any important information leaving this area." He looked up, smirking at me as I struggled to respond. "What if I were to tell you anything? That simply wouldn't do. Are you willing to give up direct contact with your loved ones just for the sake of satisfying your curiosity? For the sake of one of your squadmates?"

I clenched my fists, trying to resist the urge to confront him physically. "Fisher and I trust one another. I can't just spy on his wife."

"You didn't answer my question, Private."

"Corporal," I corrected. I paused for a brief moment, recalling the grief Fisher had been coping with over the last three months. He had ended up shooting a Special Forces operative, he learned of the sickening fate of Hope's newborns and he had been a subject to monitoring by two of his own squadmates. It was hard to bring myself to add to the stress he had to endure. But I really had no choice. Enlisting someone outside of our squad to do it would have been difficult due to the shortage of available military labor, not to mention how Fisher would probably have reacted if his wife had been detained by men he did not know. The last thing we needed was to lose men, and the last thing I needed was for Higgins to snitch on me. Ultimately, I had to give in to this despicable excuse of a man. I cared too much for my family to allow him to take them away from me.

"No. I don't want your information."

"That's good to hear," he smiled. "Are you up for it then?"

"Yes," I gulped. The bastard had me right where he wanted me.

"Professor Higgins!" I turned around, focusing my attention on the voice outside the tent. "We are having a major issue with Subject B in the test laboratory!"

"Hold on! I will be out in a moment." Higgins stood, gripping the lower end of his back. "My sincere apologies, Private Johnson. Our discussion will have to be cut short. I've already informed your commanding officer of your new objective. He will fill you in on what you have to do." He reached for the lab coat draped over his chair. "If you have any further inquiries, I'll always be here."

Just like that, it was over. I couldn't get a red cent's worth of information, and my responsibility towards my family killed that very opportunity. All I left the hospital with was a rotten feeling in my stomach. I had always been a sucker for looking out for others, and the more recent events had made that trait just that little more cumbersome. I couldn't drive Fisher out of my head for the rest of the night, and soon he would end up being on my mind for much longer than I anticipated.

* * *

><p><em>0708/65_

I couldn't fetch a wink of sleep the previous night. All I could manage to do was shut my eyes and let Higgins' words sink into my mind.

_Are you willing to give up direct contact with your loved ones just for the sake of satisfying your curiosity? For the sake of one of your squadmates?_

Lying around feeling sorry for myself was something I was never in the habit of doing, but this whole affair with the newborns was becoming more and more problematic with each passing month. Getting involved got me hooked on a secretive assignment that conspired against one of the few friends I had in this miserable plantation of a town, and I achieved nothing in the long run. It was impossible to shake off.

That morning, I had to meet with Baker to discuss the finer details of what I had to do with Anne Fisher. I spent the majority of the day staying away from my bunkroom, since Fisher was probably there with Hafen soaking his Playboy magazine with their saliva, or perhaps with other liquids that I am too hesitant to mention.

The canteen tended to be quiet on Saturdays, since most of the other troops spent their time in town with their families. Saturdays were essentially the only days when Command gave a bit of leniency to the men, and were a tad more generous with the patrol and checkpoint times. It was the perfect opportunity to have a discussion with Baker without any unexpected interruptions.

"How are you getting on, lad?" Baker approached the table with a bowl of Frosty O's in his hand. "Sorry I couldn't get talking to you last night. Chalmers wanted to have a word with me."

I remained silent as he tucked into his breakfast. I was in no mood for any nourishment at that time, so I was merely subject to the sickening splutters he emitted as he gnawed on his food. "Did Higgins assign you as well?"

"Nope," he grumbled. "Hafen and I are keeping our eyes on Eddie. Higgins thought it was best that you were handed the job seeing as you know his woman."

"So what? Do I have to bunk at her house?"

"Yep, and you'll have a jeep on standby to bring her to hospital." Which was quite a dangerous move for what was supposed to be a reasonably simple objective, considering that I couldn't drive a car for shit let alone commandeer a military jeep.

"I see, and I'll be doing this all by myself?"

"I know what you're getting at," he sighed before shoving a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "Chalmers stated that he doesn't have the manpower for any support, since she could give birth at any time. Heck, she could be spitting that kid out right now as we speak," he giggled. He could clearly tell by my expressionless face that I was in no mood for comical conversation. "You'll have Staff Sergeant Hendrick and his men waiting to take the woman once you arrive at the hospital. Those Spec Ops guys are always around there anyway."

Baker had been acting surprisingly calm throughout the whole controversy with Fisher's wife. Not once over the last couple of months did he express any significant concern for him. For the most part, all he really did was what Chalmers and Williams told him to do, and without any attempt to question such ignorant orders. Adhering to your commanding officers is important, but a man with a real conscience should always be willing to think between the lines and not suck up to everything he is being told. Baker rarely acted like the bright man he actually was, but he had always been a vocal person. Seeing him take this shit without conveying any doubt was worrying. "This all feels so wrong, sir."

"What do you mean?" He continued to horse into his meal.

"What do you think I mean? How Fisher is being fucked over by his own squad?"

"Well, it's better than him trying to go AWOL and end up getting shot, just like Mr. Doe," he spluttered. "The higher ups want to avoid bringing in any more men. They don't want to lose any either."

"Is that all you care about, sir? What about your own men? Don't you care about them?"

Baker dropped his spoon with considerable force, frowning with clear prejudice. "Peter. You remember that little photo I showed you?"

"Yeah." Of course I remembered it. I was never really comfortable with the sight of blood, but the amount of gore in that photo was entirely unforgettable.

"Since I'm your commanding officer, I'm responsible for the shit that you, Hafen and Fisher get involved with. Fisher shot a man who I was supposed to cover, and I ended up learning things that I shouldn't have known about in the first place. Williams is very hesitant with sending me home to see my family now, and more so than ever. So I need to be careful with what I do and what I say. If I'm told to jump, I have to ask how high, otherwise I'm screwed. I care more about my family than any of the men here," he winced. "I know you understand."

I did to be honest. The last thing I wanted was to have my family transferred here, being subject to a virus I knew almost nothing about at the time. That's exactly why I stalled my interrogation of Higgins, despite my inane desire to learn more about what the virus did and what exactly it was for. It couldn't have been for medicinal purposes at all, considering the extremes that the scientific teams here were willing to go to. So, I had to know more about it, and why the military was being so secretive about it. In turn this led to me failing to remember that I had a family to take care of. It was the damn reason I agreed to come to this shithole in the first place. "I'm sorry, Baker. I just don't like to see this kind of shit happening."

"It's alright to feel that way, Johnson. You just need to remember that it's our duty to keep this place safe, and we don't want any of our men ditching us. Keeping an eye on Fisher and his wife is mandatory at the rate things are going." He stuffed his mouth with another few spoonfuls of cereal. "You'll be starting tomorrow. Mrs Fisher has already been informed of your objective, so I doubt she'll be much of a problem to you. Chalmers will give you a ride there in the morning."

"So all I have to do is make sure she gets to the hospital in time?"

"Yeah. The moment she acts up or starts feeling pain...you know, down there," he mumbled, pointing to his crotch area. "You'll need to make sure that you get her to the field hospital immediately."

"And that's it?"

"That's it," he shrugged. "Couldn't be any simpler."

It was simple to him anyway, since it had probably been well over a decade since Baker had a child. I remember the shit I had to go through with my wife far too well in order to be comfortable with my new assignment. The screams of a heavily pregnant woman would be enough to snap your skull open, and my two kids were only the first out of many newborns I would end up having to deal with in my lifetime.

* * *

><p><em>0808/65_

Hafen and I waited outside by our jeep for Sergeant Major Chalmers to arrive. I had insisted that Baker should keep Fisher occupied until I was off the military campus. As melodramatic as it sounds, I couldn't really face Fisher after all the shit I would end up dealing with over the next week.

I scanned my surroundings. Two squads of three men lined up next to a pair of jeeps to the far eastern part of the base, apparently waiting for their commanding officers to arrive. Most personnel ended up walking into town, since the time spent waiting for squad Sergeants to find the correct set of keys for each vehicle typically exceeded the average stroll to town. It made me wonder how the camp would react if there was an emergency in the town, and how much time they would spend shuffling keys around.

"Special assignment, huh?" Hafen's astoundingly monotone accent broke the silence.

"Are we actually having a conversation, Hafen?"

"Fuck it, never mind." Hafen was never one for initiating conversations. He often preferred to speak only when necessary, since exchanging merely more than a few words with him was enough to warrant his anger.

"I'm only kidding, man. Yeah, it's kind of special, but I can't really spill any of the details right now."

"Pfft. It wouldn't be so special if you could anyway."

We continued to wait for an additional five minutes, before Chalmers finally emerged from the base. He was accompanied by two Sergeants, who were supposedly the commanders of the two squads left fuming by the jeeps. He approached us, sporting a pair of polished boots that appeared to be at least a size too big for his feet. "Got yourself some new footwear, sir?"

Chalmers responded with a grunt, before digging his hands into his breast pocket. "Has Baker briefed you on your assignment, Corporal?"

"Yes, sir. I'm fully aware of the details of my assignment, sir."

"Good," he muttered. He retrieved a pair of keys from his pocket and had started to fiddle with them. "Now which one starts the bleedin'..."

"I'm off then," Hafen announced.

"Enjoy your Playboy, asshole," I sneered. Hafen departed from the front yard and made his way back to the base, presumably to conduct a session of mental masturbation with Fisher.

"This one," Chalmers grumbled. He proceeded to start up the jeep, whose engines roared in response. "You have to love the Willy MB. Best four by four vehicle you can get nowadays."

"It certainly doesn't sound like it, sir," I added, indicating the insurmountable noise it continued to make.

"As long as it can run, it'll do. Get in."

I sat myself down in the passenger seat, adjusting my lower body in an attempt to scrape some comfort out of the thing. "Christ, they're worse than the seats in the mess hall."

"Just wait till we get moving," he sniggered. He tightened his grip on the wheel, leaving me with a severe feeling of nausea in the pit of my stomach.

The vehicle jolted forwards, followed by another bang in the engine. My seat vibrated incessantly as the vehicle pressed forwards. The jeep careened to the left, moving with such pace as if the entire vehicle was going to topple over on its side. As we moved closer to the stone gate leading out of the campus, I could feel my internal organs throbbing with pain. "Holy. Shit. Sir."

"It's a beast, eh? It takes some getting used to." He patted my back and grinned, clearly amused by my nerve-racking reaction. "I'm sure you will have no problem controlling this thing."

That's when it hit me. I was supposed to be given a vehicle in order to transport Anne to the hospital when she goes into labor. My eyes widened with horror as he continued towards the town. "What do you mean by _you_, sir?"

"Well what do you think, Johnson? It's not like you're going to carry Mrs Fisher to the doctor," he giggled.

"I don't think it's funny, sir. This is a priority target we're talking about."

Chalmers looked at me, displaying all but the signs of cheerfulness he initially displayed. "Ah chin up, kid. Be grateful that I'm actually in a good mood today. There's nothing wrong with a little bit of humor now and then." He diverted his eyes back to the dirt road, only to realise that he was a few meters from colliding with another jeep coming in from the opposite direction. He tugged the steering wheel, forcing the jeep to the left as the other vehicle flew by at full speed. "Fucking morons! Watch where you're going!"

"That's not what I meant sir," I sighed. "You can't honestly expect me to laugh off the fact that I have to drive a pregnant woman in this pile of broken steel."

"What the hell are you on about? It's working fine, we're still alive aren't we?" Which was obviously true, but having a heavily pregnant woman (and myself, most importantly) vibrating in the most uncomfortable seats imaginable, alongside the loudest engine I had ever heard of in my life was not going to do much to keep her comfortable.

"This vehicle has far more noise and control issues than any of the other jeeps here," I stated. "You can't drive a VIP around in one of these."

"Almost all of the jeeps here are Willys." Which had proven my point. The "Willy" we were supposed to be driving was completely unstable compared to the other ones. "Quit your whining, it'll do nicely."

I burrowed my head into my hands, unable to fathom the level of stupidity the commanding officers had been displaying. I remained silent for the rest of the journey, focusing on the road in order to ensure that Chalmers wouldn't have endangered us a second time.

* * *

><p><em>0808/65_

I approached Anne's residence, observing the weathered bricks that held the structure in place. While most of the homes in the town were of modest quality, and were probably built on a below average budget, I was astounded to see how aged the building's materials were. The red brick pigments on the wall had already started to fade, while some patches of undergrowth were tattered along the bottom of the front wall. It was abundantly clear that Eddie didn't do much to look after his new residence. I was willing to bet that the cheap excuse of a transport that Chalmers left me was probably far more durable than the household I was going to spend the next week or so living in.

Anne Fisher and I had only met a few times in the year I was here. She seemed like a quiet and kind woman, but Fisher had warned me before that she had developed a strong temper ever since she had started developing cravings. I sniggered softly as I recalled my wife's destructive nature when she was expecting our kids, and I was safe in the knowledge that Anne could not have possibly possessed the strength or anger necessary to dismantle the legs of a wooden chair when she experienced labor cramps.

I trudged up towards the front door, still shaken by the perilous journey I had been on with Chalmers. I raised my fist to knock on the door, hesitating for a brief moment before I eventually managed to overlook the disdain that I had been suffering from for the last few months. "Here goes nothing," I thought to myself. I knocked twice, perhaps a tad harder than what would have been socially acceptable, but it was a force of habit due to my wife's prolonged naps when she was in the last few months of her pregnancy. The wait was slightly unnerving. "Shit, what if she's in there giving birth right now?" My paranoia was beginning to get the better of me, once again being another symptom of the stress I went through with my wife when she was expecting my sons, Jake and Tyler.

After experiencing 30 seconds of needless anxiety, the front door had finally opened. I looked up and there she was, dressed in a mere white blouse, caressing her round stomach as she pulled the door towards her. "Ah, Peter," she smiled. I tried to divert my eyes away from her skimpy attire, silently cursing at myself for making such a detailed observation of my friend's partner.

"Anne," I nodded. "Did you just wake?"

"About a few minutes ago. I forgot that you were supposed to come this morning. I've just been spending so much time thinking about Eddie, and our future offspring of course," she grinned. I almost retched in disgust. "Do come in."

"Thank you." I stepped inside, scanning the interior of the building. I had never stepped foot inside any of the residences in Hope ever since they had started constructing them over a year prior. I was shocked to see how well decorated the interior of her house was. There was a potted plant sitting in almost every corner of the establishment. The walls were littered with painted pictures depicting all sorts of wildlife. I paused for a moment to admire the sweet smell in the hallway, before stepping into her living room to discover that an even sweeter aroma had enveloped the premises. "My god. This place looks wonderful." I took a deep breath. "Smells wonderful too," I exhaled.

"Of course. I value the environment around us, so I like to have a piece of nature inside as well." Although she may have valued the environment, it wouldn't have killed her to do a bit of work on the outside as well.

"Ah! I see." My attempt to act intrigued was embarrassingly feeble. "So, you're a hippy then?"

"It's not the name I'd use, but yeah. You could say that." I could tell from her disgruntled reaction that my choice of words had been poor. "Your room is just down the hallway." She indicated the door next to the kitchen.

I nodded to show that I was listening, but I was honestly too enamored with the fresh scent in order to pay any attention to what she was saying.

"Would you like something to eat while you get settled in?"

"Ah, no thank you." I threw myself onto the sofa, taking a moment to admire the soft cushions. It had been several weeks since I had last seen home, and the standard of living in this household was on par with mine. It was almost as if I was at home, enjoying a warm bowl of soup, while gazing longingly at the warm embrace of the fireplace.

"Getting comfy?"

"Oh, sorry." I snapped to attention as she approached me. "I've been spending so much time away from home, I've forgotten what comfort actually felt like," I chuckled.

"I'm sorry you had to be dragged into this," she groaned. "I begged them just to let Edward take care of me, but they insisted on sending you."

"The virus' research team doesn't want Fisher doing anything to endanger your safety," I explained. That was only the bare minimum compared to what he may have actually done had he ended up like John Doe.

She shook her head in disbelief. "Edward can be clumsy, but he cares about me. He wouldn't do anything brash, honestly."

As her words slipped through my mind, I vividly recalled the photo Baker showed me. Fisher had never been one for domestic violence, or at least as far as I could tell, but considering his disturbing fetish with firearms there was no telling what he would have ended up doing to his wife. John Doe was discharged and thus had no access to any rifles, but Fisher was still a soldier in spite of the surveillance he was under. "It's just procedure, m'am. At least you have someone you know watching over you," I smiled.

"I guess," she mumbled, fidgeting with her short brown hair. She was clearly doubtful of what was going on, which was a relief considering the massive amounts of ignorance I had been subject to ever since this whole scenario with Fisher's child came up in the first place. I relished in my momentary delight, before I decided to take some cautious procedures.

I leaned forward. "Have you had any problems over the last week or so?"

"Nothing major. There's the occasional cramp, and my back hurts a bit, but I can handle it."

"I see." I paused, observing her large, rotund stomach. "But there's no point trying to be brave, Anne. I'm here to make sure you get medical attention the second that kid is ready to come out." Assuming that the hazardous jeep I owned didn't cause a miscarriage the moment I would start the engine. "You have to let me know if you feel any pain. I need to know if the baby drops at any time. Or if," I gulped. "Or if you start 'leaking'. Do you understand?"

She nodded, visibly comfortable with the discussion we were having, which was something I couldn't really say for myself.

"Good," I beamed. "I'd also ask that you remain on the premises at all times, and I want you to inform me if you need to go out." I have to admit that I felt slightly vacuous having to give such simple commands to a heavily pregnant woman. I resumed resting on the sofa, trying to brush off the embarrassment of the situation.

"Peter, you have kids, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do." I tilted my head towards her. "Why?"

"Is giving birth really as painful as they say it is?" Her innocent, virtuous tone made me all the more uncomfortable.

"Well," I groaned, recalling the traumatizing time I spent in the ward with my wife. "I don't think it's as bad as they make it out to be. Just take a few deep breaths and you should be able to handle it." When I stated that the screams of a pregnant woman would eat away at the composure of any man, I honestly wasn't kidding. My wife was a tough cookie, and even she had a tough time in there. I wasn't able to leave the premises either, for fear that she would only hoist herself up and chase me throughout the whole building. The sight of a woman on the verge of giving birth pursuing you through an A&E ward would have been distressing to say the least. I had no choice but to lie to Anne, since explaining such a devastating memory to her would have made things even more difficult for me.

"That's good to hear," she sighed. "I can't stop thinking about it. Then again, I suppose all that matters is that the baby is healthy, right?"

I nodded slowly, but with insincerity. Anne was just an average woman, oblivious to what was going to end up happening to her child. I had to stomach it and resist the urge to tell her about what was going on behind the scenes. However, the truth was that not even I was fully aware of what actually going on at that time. I would soon end up finding out, which would be the starting point for how hectic the next four years were going to be.


	7. BIRTH

**BIRTH**

* * *

><p><em>1408/65_

Over the last week I had spent each day watching over Anne Fisher as if she were my own wife. I couldn't even so much as leave the house, given the strict terms of my mission. Every second counted when it came to harvesting a REDLIGHT test subject from the womb of its mother. The mere thought of it upset my stomach, but my responsibility for her safety prevented me from walking out on my objective. I didn't want to be the reason that Eddie's child would have ended up kicking the bucket before even so much as seeing the light of day, even if the poor little sod would inevitably become a guinea pig for the most despicable research group in existence.

"Peter?" Anne's voice snapped me out of my trance. I blinked, trying to ignore the strain from staring at the open fire for such a prolonged period of time.

"Sorry. I wasn't paying attention. You, uh, were talking about Fisher's graduation?"

"No, we discussed that over an hour ago," she chortled. "You know, the incident with the punch bowl?"

"Ah yeah," I leaned forward, attempting to act interested.

I was honestly too tired for casual conversation. Sitting around all day was far more exhausting than one would have you believe. Jogging around the town and guarding checkpoints kept you on your toes at all times, in spite of how easy it was to distract my squad mates. But when your weekly routine gets changed in the blink of an eye, it has an exhausting effect on your body. I had become so accustomed to my strict military lifestyle that even the slightest change irritated the hell out of me. I still relished the warmth of the household, but I missed the twenty minute jogs we had every day.

I looked out the window. The town was in darkness, with only a small tint of light from the town hall providing any sort of visibility. The soldiers who were unfortunate enough to be handed patrol schedules at night were probably stationed there, likely trying to make good use of the crate loads of refreshments locked away in the conference hall.

"What do you think of the town, Peter?"

I turned to face Anne, perplexed by her question. "In what way?"

"Well," she shrugged. "How do you feel about this town being used for medical research?"

I really didn't need any time to think of an answer. My negative feelings towards the entire operation weighed heavy on my mind at the time. "I think it's disgusting. We've essentially become the government's playthings." I straightened my posture and sharpened my tone, making it abundantly clear that I was finally ready to have a real conversation. "They take our bodies, inject it with something we know almost nothing about, and then they take our kids for the same research? It's petty," I outlined. "I'm surprised no one on the outside has done anything to stop this."

"Well, like you said, we know almost nothing about what they've injected us with. So the American people don't really have much of a reason to oppose this."

"Aside from the fact that they're using their own people as test subjects," I scowled. I was hoping Anne's environmentalist beliefs would have kicked in, but to no avail.

"Perhaps so. But at least they haven't done anything brash to us, and they've promised Eddie and I that we will get time to see our child. So it's not all that bad," she stated cheerfully.

"Christ, Anne." She portrayed the same passive behavior that everyone else in the town harbored. "How can you act so calm? I mean, do you even know what you're saying?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you_ think_ I mean? You're allowing your own kin to be used for something you know nothing about, and you don't seem to give a shit at all," I snarled.

"Of course I give a s-" She paused, trying to dilute her irritation. "Of course I care, we just have to accept things for the way they are."

"Accept that your kid is going to be poked and prodded by a group of scientists?"

"It's not like I have a damn choice," she retorted, gripping her stomach tightly. "I don't want to piss off the military. Especially not when Eddie is holed up here."

I shook my head. "Then why did you come here? For god's sake, did you not think about what could possibly happen? They're performing tests on live people. That can't sound inviting at all."

"Well, it was either that or Vietnam! Did you honestly think that I was going to send my husband off to a damn war with commies on the other side of the damn world?" I have to admit that her aggressive reply caught me off guard for a moment. Her lip quivered, taking a moment to resist the urge to cry. "Eddie loves warfare. When we met in high school, all he ever did was talk about guns and the Second World War. He always wanted to join a full-scale war, and the rising tension between America and the communist nations excited him. I was afraid," she sniffed. "I was afraid that if Eddie joined the army, he was going to wind up dead."

"Then why didn't he join the reserve forces? They get fuck all action."

Anne shook her head. "I brought it up, but he refused. He insisted on joining the real fight." She reached out for a framed photo on the fireplace and glared at it. "So when the idea of Hope came up, I signed for it. The pay was higher, and the healthcare was free." Of course, the free healthcare referred to the improbability that REDLIGHT could be cured. "It seemed to be safer too. I was aware of the risks, and I went through with it. Eddie could join the army, and stay in one piece at the same time," she wept. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to see me like this," she whispered, rubbing her eyes.

"No, it's okay. I'm the one who should be apologizing." My attempt to console her was hackneyed at best, but her outburst made it extraordinarily difficult for me to think of something genuine to say. "I just get a little sensitive when it comes to talking about the town. It annoys me because every time I pass by this town, everyone goes about their business without passing so much as a remark towards the soldiers. It freaks the shit out of me."

Anne stood, having recovered from her deranged state. "The people here knew what they were getting into, so they can be as carefree as they want. We have our reasons for being here, just like how you have your reasons for being here." My eyes widened, intrigued by her statement. "I need some sleep. If you want something to eat, feel free to fix something up for yourself."

"Uh, right, thanks. Good night," I blurted out.

Anne responded with a coy nod, before waddling her way down the hallway to her bedroom. I remained seated, staring at the photo she left behind on the fireplace. I stood, ignoring the ache that swept through my lower legs and walked towards the photo. "My reasons, huh?" I stared at the photograph, making out the details of the sepia-toned scene. Anne and Eddie stood in front of a pair of wooden double doors, cuddling one another in their wedding attire. Eddie was dressed in a bright white suit, still sporting the same head of shaved brown hair alongside the same gangly figure that I had become so familiar with. For some reason, the positivity of the scene failed to warm my heart, because I realized that the union between this couple would soon be broken. Anne was here to keep her family together, while Eddie was here to fulfill his dreams of being a soldier. My reason for being here was to ensure that both of their dreams would end up being crushed, just for the sake of aiding the same virus I had spent so long trying to sabotage.

I continued to glare at the photo for an additional five minutes, pondering the consequences of my mission, before I turned and made my way down the hallway to go to bed.

* * *

><p><em>1808/65_

I had pretty much lost my track of time at that point. I wasn't even certain what day it was at that point, but I had little reason to ask. As each day passed, my inane desire to leave this household continued to aggravate me. The lack of daily exercise and having to remain in the vicinity of a heavily pregnant woman all day and night was beginning to have an effect on my sanity. The tedium of my assignment was becoming a major inconvenience to say the least.

"Any cramps or anything?"

"No," Anne frowned, before returning to read her newspaper. I figured that asking her the same question five times in the space of an hour was slowly becoming a bit of an annoyance.

"What about your back?"

"For the third time, it hurts but I can manage." It appeared that I should have paid heed to Eddie's warning about Anne's temper, but perhaps my overly cautious nature had something to do with it.

"I know I'm being a pain in the ass, but your safety is my priority," I reminded her.

"You mean the child's safety is your priority," she corrected.

"Whatever way you want to put it," I sighed.

She continued to shuffle through her copy of the Idaho State Journal. I opened my mouth to inquire about any other possible symptoms, but ultimately I decided to let her be. Our conversations haven't been as fruitful ever since our little discussion on REDLIGHT. I felt compelled to apologize again, but it was probably best avoided considering her current frame of mind. I took a sip of my tea, recoiling as my lips touched the hot liquid. "Shit, woah. Hot stuff, eh?"

Anne responded with a low grunt, likely criticizing my primitive ability to drink tea. At that rate nothing was going to cheer her up, so I resumed eating my breakfast without uttering another word.

Incase I haven't already made it abundantly clear, I was getting sick to death of the place.

* * *

><p><em>2108/65_

I waited in line at the grocer, carrying a bag full of vegetables, soup and a variety of other goods I wouldn't like to have been caught dead with. It was a mildly warm morning, and the blazing sun indicated that it was going to become uncomfortably hot very soon. Considering that it was a Saturday, the town's markets were filled to the brim with people hustling and bustling around the stalls. Anne had insisted that I fetch her groceries from the sole supermarket in the area, since the fresh food imported from farmers on the outskirts of Hope made her feel squeamish, or so she claimed. I glanced at the shopping list she left me to ensure I hadn't forgotten anything, before scanning through the contents of my bag to compare the goods I had with what was on the list. The amount of food the woman could consume was astounding, and probably had an even more astounding effect on Eddie's pay slip. Either way, I was just glad that I cooked my own meals at the house, since the sight of so many vegetables would have almost been enough to put me off eating food for the rest of the day.

"Well, look who it is." I could feel my lips curl into a broad smile. I instantly recognized the rough Irish accent that I had started to miss over the fortnight of my absence.

"Sir," I saluted as I turned to face Baker. I immediately noticed the plastic tray he was carrying in his left hand, bearing some sort of lukewarm red liquid. "It seems a bit early to be eating that sort of food, sir."

"Heh," he snorted before digging his fork into the liquid. "Curry. You can't resist the ol' curry, Johnson." I myself had never tasted such a cuisine, since curry houses weren't in significant abundance in Tallahassee when I was a child. "Some chink at the other end of town is selling them. You want some?"

"I think I'll pass, sir."

He shrugged and slipped a lump of chicken into his mouth, chomping and slurping in the usual manner. "How's life with Mrs. Fisher?"

"It's a pain in the ass, sir. I'd take a good long run over this shit any day."

"Heh. There'll be plenty of time for you to catch up on your exercises." He continued to loudly slurp and munch on his food, much to the displeasure of the three or so civilians in front of me. "Things are different without you. Hell, even Hafen commented that military life without you is different," he chuckled. "We have some asshole from Healey's squad taking your place, and it's him who's making the orders half of the time."

"Oh? How are Hafen and Fisher coping with him?"

"He's a pretty strict bloke, so he's doing a fair job of keeping them under control." Baker's decent impression of my replacement made me feel insignificant, considering how damn hard it was to get Hafen and Eddie to do anything productive. "He had Hafen do twenty on the ground outside Gate B-2 yesterday afternoon. It was freaking priceless."

"I don't suppose you miss being in control, sir?"

"Eh, I could use a break every once in a while. Take your time, kid," he giggled.

I paused for a moment, focusing on the line in front of me, before eventually realizing that I had forgotten to enquire about Eddie. "Sir, how's Fisher holding up?"

I could sense Baker's delightful mood break down as he sought to find an appropriate answer. "Eddie...Eddie, yeah, Eddie." Not even his blunt personality could force an answer out of him. I knew from his attempts to stall for time that Fisher was in trouble.

"What's wrong, sir? Did something happen while I was gone?"

Baker sighed deeply, before lowering his head to face the ground. "It's not good, Peter." He shook his head, still finding a way to stall for time. "One of the guys on campus made a bit of a negative comment about Fisher's wife a little over a week ago. It didn't end well."

"A fight, sir?"

"Yeah. Eddie literally lurched for him, and they started pounding the living shit out of each other. It took me, Hafen and two other men to separate them." Fisher may have loved conflict, but for him to start a fist fight over a mere insult was very much unlike him. Most of the time he would shrug it off, and just look forward to the next time he would get to hold a gun. "Chalmers put him on sewer duty for the weekend, but he's still as sensitive as hell."

It was understandable though. Eddie hadn't an opportunity to see Anne for two weeks, and the fact that she was carrying a ticking time bomb couldn't have done much to ease his mind. Hell even I was stressed out about the scenario, and she wasn't even my wife. "It should be over soon. Odds are she'll give birth within a matter of days, and maybe Eddie will calm down once he has the child in his arms," I suggested.

"Assuming it isn't dead already," he muttered, before shoving the last piece of chicken into his mouth. "Nothing would make me happier than for this shit to end. I just want things to go back to the way they were."

"It's amazing what this virus can do to people, huh?" Baker merely nodded in response, not even taking the time to maintain eye contact.

"Shit, we shouldn't be talking about this here," Baker added, staring at the crowd of civilians waiting in line. "Hey, I'll see you later. I can't stay here all day."

"Alright then, you watch yourself out there sir." Unfortunately, Baker scampered out of the store before he could heed my farewells. I clenched my bag tightly, barely containing my rage as John Doe's wife flashed through my mind. I spent the rest of the morning trying to resist imagining Anne in a similar position, but it was of no use. I knew something terrible was going to happen, and I was going to be directly involved.

* * *

><p><em>2108/65_

I strolled into the hall, before setting my shopping bag down beside the front door. I peeked into the living room, noticing that the curtains were still drawn.

"Anne? I'm back," I shouted. There was no response. I made my way into the kitchen, noting that the house was the still in the same condition it had been when I left it. The table hadn't been cleared, and the pile of cutlery and dishes in the sink remained unclean, which was a stark contrast to Anne's obsession with cleanliness. "Anne?"

I sprinted outside, frantically calling out to her. "Anne? Anne!" I jerked my head from side to side, trying to pinpoint where she might have gone. "Oh fuck me. I was only gone for two hours," I whispered to myself. I continued to scan my surroundings, when a short, middle aged man approached me.

"Are you all right, son?" I stared at him, unable to muster the intellect necessary to make a coherent response. "What's wrong? Are you looking for someone?"

"I'm, I'm looking for..for..." I paused, trying to gather my thoughts. "I'm looking for a pregnant woman. Yes! A pregnant woman. She has short brown hair, she's nine months in! She...she..." I lost track of what I was saying, before I returned to observing the area around me. "Oh fuck, where could she have gone?"

"You must mean Anne Fisher," he suggested. "I don't think she left the house at all. Maybe she's still asleep?"

"Asleep?" I sprinted back into the house, jerking my legs back and forth without even so much as considering the shopping bag I left beside the front door. My left leg collided with the bulky straw bag, forcing my entire body to tip over. "Fuck!" I yelped as my body hit the concrete pavement at full force. I consciously ignored the pain and forced myself back up, and it wasn't long before I had myself sprinting towards the hallway. "Anne! Answer me!"

I hurried myself towards her bedroom door, barely slowing myself in time to avoid smashing into it. I twisted the door handle tightly and pushed with all of the strength my arms could afford, but the door simply wouldn't budge. I remembered that Anne had a habit of locking her bedroom door when she was asleep, which was something I had nagged her about multiple times. I knocked on the wooden door and called out. "Anne!"

"Help me."

Her weak whimpers were barely audible, but I immediately realized that she was in trouble. "Anne, I need you to unlock the door!"

My shouts were met with an uncanny silence. It was of no use, Anne probably didn't even have the energy necessary to stand up, let alone walk up and try to unlock a door that was probably a great distance from her. "Shit! Hang on Anne, I'll break the door down!"

I wasn't a terribly strong man, but I could feel my entire body pulsating as the adrenaline pumped itself through my veins. I vividly recalled the moments of distress Eddie had went through over the last few months, and I felt that the loss of his wife would make things unbearable for him. That sudden revelation gave me the strength necessary to try.

Judging by the dozens of action flicks I watched ever since I was a teenager, I felt that slamming my upper body into the door would force it open. I pressed my right shoulder into the door with significant might and main. The sudden wave of pain that followed forced me to retreat from the door. It was then that I realized that the action flicks weren't entirely as realistic as I thought they were. I paused for a moment to consider an alternative, before I eventually decided to kick the door down. My combat boots were fairly bulky, and would be more than enough to force the door open without breaking my foot. I lifted my right foot and slammed it against the door, and I repeated the process until I could hear sharp cracks emitting from the corners of the door. I stepped back and took a deep breath, hoping that I wouldn't end up kicking the door in on top of Anne, before I sprinted towards the door and kicked my boot into it. To my momentary delight, the door fell back and landed with a resounding thump.

I dashed into the room, before stumbling back towards the door frame in horror. "Oh my god," I grumbled.

Anne lay on the bed, her skirt drenched in water and blood. She looked up at me and clenched her stomach tightly, moaning in pain as I approached her.

"Anne, how long have you been like this?" I couldn't take my eyes off the trails of blood on her dress.

"A few minutes," she gasped. "Please, help me."

I finally snapped to attention and proceeded to hoist her up into my arms. I flinched as my left hand made contact with her bloody legs, but I swallowed my fear and held her as tightly as I possibly could have. "You're going to be alright, I just need you to start taking deep breaths." Although I was glad that she was still alive, I was still worried about the safety of the child considering the excess of blood that she was leaking.

I shuffled outside slowly, trying to ignore the aching sensation in my arms due to her dead weight. I noticed that the middle aged geezer from before was still waiting outside, whose jaw dropped as I emerged from the house. "Jesus Christ, is she alright?"

"What it does look like?" I brushed past him and hurried myself to the jeep.

"Are you going to bring her to the hospital?"

"No, I'm bringing her fucking shopping," I bellowed angrily.

I dropped her into the passenger seat, taking a moment to relieve my arms of their pain. "Alright then," I wheezed. "Let's get you some help." I jumped into the driver's seat and slipped my key into the MB's key slot and twisted it. "Come on, you piece of shit." The jeep responded with sharp bang, one that had nearly startled me out of my seat. I gripped the wheel tightly, breathing heavily as the jeep started to rumble. I couldn't believe that I actually had to drive this thing in an attempt to save a woman's life. For all I knew, the perilous vehicle could have been enough to kill Anne's child before I even reached the edge of town. I swallowed all of my doubts and accepted that if I didn't depart, the child would have died anyway, and the old coot from next door would have testified that I was not on the premises when Anne's water burst. The last thing I needed was to have spent the rest of my career on sewer duty, or worse.

I forced my foot down on the pedal and the jeep hurtled forwards, my seat vibrating violently as the jeep gained speed. In spite of the extremely noisy engine and painfully uncomfortable seating, I found controlling the vehicle to be surprisingly simple. I glanced at Anne, who was gripping the lower end of her stomach, likely in an attempt to stem the bleeding. She didn't seem to have been leaking as much liquid or blood as before, but I could easily tell that she was in a great deal of pain. She maintained a series of deep breaths, as I had commanded earlier. Despite the distressing situation in the house, I found myself in a much more hopeful position. Anne was still breathing, the child has yet to fly out of her womb, and we would be at the field hospital within a matter of minutes. Things seemed to be going fine for the moment.

We sped through the town center, and I decided to take an alternate route in order to avoid coming in contact with the crowds at the market. I had to drive around the marketplace which lengthened the journey, but it reduced the chances of me having the clean off the entrails of some poor pedestrian once my mission was complete. As I passed by the town hall, I noticed that a small crowd of a little over a dozen soldiers were present, possibly waiting for a commanding officer to let them use the phones. I intended on paying no heed to their presence, until a trio of soldiers gazed at me as I drove by. I risked a glance, before my eyes widened in shock. Clearly dumbfounded by the fact that I was escorting a heavily pregnant woman in one of the loudest machines in modern history, I looked away immediately when our eyes met. It was Baker, Hafen and...

...Fisher.

* * *

><p><em>2108/65_

As we closed in on the hospital, I placed my hand on Anne's shoulder and smiled. "We're here. You're going to be alright, Anne."

Anne responded with a weak smile. Suddenly, she started shaking and forced away my grip on her shoulder. "Oh fuck," she screamed. "It's getting worse."

I shrunk in my seat as her screams became even louder, loud enough to rival the noise emitting from the engine. I pulled over in front of the main tent, ignoring the fact that the sudden brake nearly threw me over the hood of the jeep. I jumped out of the jeep, trying to tolerate the pain in my stomach from having to commandeer such an uncomfortable vehicle, and ran around. I hoisted her up in my arms, almost retching from the sight of so much blood and tramped towards the entrance. "I need a doctor here! Hello? I need a doctor!"

Staff Sergeant Hendrick jogged outside with one of his squad mates to meet me. "Healey actual, how can I help..." His words trailed off into an faint mumble. "It's about time, kid!"

Had I not been carrying a woman who probably weighed more than I did, I would have socked Hendrick for such a disrespectful reply. I handed Anne to him, who handled her with apparent ease. "Is she going to be alright?"

"Vince and I will bring her inside. You go and fetch Higgins. He'll want to see this," he ordered. "You know where his tent is, so get going Corporal."

I nodded and sprinted towards Higgins' private tent. I didn't really know what to think at that very moment. The fact that Fisher saw me in town with his wife couldn't have been something to be passive about. I was worried about how he would have reacted, and little did I know that it would prove to be a major problem later on.

I approached Higgins' tent and zipped it open. Higgins stood half naked in front of a standing mirror with his back turned to it. He had his head turned away, observing his backside. Since I was such a curious soldier back in those days, I managed to sneak a glance at the mirror. A vast, dark brown scar in the shape of jagged crescent reached from his trapezius all the way down to the lower end of his back. It was presumably the reason Higgins had suffered from such chronic back pain, but the reason why it was there would soon prove to be even more shocking. I cleared my throat. "Professor."

He turned to face me, before he grabbed the mirror and toppled it over. "Dear god," he barked. "I asked not to be disturbed. What do you want, Private?" He glanced at my shirt, noticing the several splotches of blood smeared over it. "Oh my. Are you hurt?"

"No sir. But Anne Fisher is, and Hendrick needs you in the infirmary."

"I see. So she's ready," he said, giddily anticipating the arrival of his new test subject. He grabbed the labcoat draped over his chair and put it on hastily, not even taking the time to worry about what I had just witnessed. "Well then, let's not keep them waiting."

We ran back to the main tent, Higgins taking the lead with commendable speed. We made our way inside, where a group of young scientists waited for us. One of the armed personnel stepped forwards and greeted Higgins with a crisp salute. "Mrs Fisher is in the surgery ward, sir."

Higgins gathered the three or so scientists in the room and ran into the infirmary, before being followed by a pair of armed personnel. As I attempted to gain access to the room, Hendrick emerged from the infirmary, blocking the passage through. "You can't come in, Johnson. You'll have to wait here until they're finished up with her."

"For Christ's sake," I shouted. "I just spent the last two weeks keeping her ass safe, and now you won't let me in to see if she's alright?"

"Really? Judging by the amount of blood she's lost, you probably didn't do a very good job," he stated. I still condemned myself for being away while Anne was at home suffering, so I couldn't really find much of a reason to argue. "You stay here and brief Lieutenant Colonel Williams on what happened when he arrives."

Brilliant. Just when things couldn't have possibly gotten any worse, Williams was en route to make the entire situation even more uncontrollable. I sighed heavily and sat myself down in one of the plastic chairs, waiting eagerly for Hendrick to return to the infirmary. I needed a moment alone to think, and it wasn't easy having a redneck operative breathing down my neck. He backed away towards the opening and held his ground there, showing no signs of leaving the room.

We waited in silence for the next five minutes, although we were subject to the occasional wail and scream from inside the surgery ward. The screams of a pregnant woman were all too familiar to me, so I made a conscious effort to avoid thinking of my wife at the same time. As time went on, the screams became more frequent and far more audible. The effect they had on me was incredibly agonizing, before they eventually began to leave ringing sensations in my ears.

As the screams became an strong inconvenience, Hendrick moved into the infirmary and at least he had the decency to zip up the opening while he was at it. But even that wasn't enough to muffle the sharp screams of pain emitting from the infirmary. I buried my head in my hands, on the brink of tearing out my eardrums. Fortunately, the screams suddenly died down, indicating that the process was over. Worryingly enough, there was then a prolonged period of silence, which had me worried that the child did not make it.

"Peter!"

I peered outside, only to see Baker, Fisher and Hafen sprinting towards the tent. "Oh shit," I whispered.

They scuffled into the tent, gasping for air. Their faces were roaring red and their shirts were drenched with sweat. I was amazed that they managed to run this far in the space of a little over five minutes.

"Where is she?" Fisher stumbled towards me, clearly aggravated by my involvement in this conspiracy. "Where the fuck is she, Peter?"

"She's inside there, but you can't go in."

"Don't tell what to fucking do, you little asshole." He grabbed me by the collar and squeezed it firmly. "You're fucking around with them. You were with those sick fucks all along." Tears had started dripping down his face, which only reminded me of John Doe.

"Eddie, please. I didn't want to see you hurt," I gulped. "I didn't want you to end up like that guy from the checkpoint."

He shoved me away, screaming with rage. "I thought we were brothers Peter, you east coast piece of shit!" I was in a position where self-defense was probably necessary. It wouldn't have been long before he started swinging his scraggy fists at me. I just couldn't bring myself to retaliate at all, but not out of fear that the slightest injury would break every major bone in his body. In fact, I couldn't really identify why I lacked the urge to defend myself.

"That's enough!" Baker stepped forward, grabbing Fisher by his arm.

"And what about you, Sarge? You in this as well? Are you spying on me like a bunch of fucking commies? Huh?"

Sedating Fisher's tantrum was nigh on impossible at that point. I could tell from Baker's disgruntled reaction that it wouldn't be long before the situation would escalate into a bloodbath. All it would have taken was a mere aggravation and Baker would have ended up snapping Fisher like a twig. "Don't make me hurt you, Private," he warned.

"Hold up." Hendrick emerged from the infirmary, pointing his rifle at Fisher as he zipped up the opening. I used his interruption as an opportunity to maintain a reasonable distance from Fisher. "Stand down, Private Fisher. I won't have any conflict on military property." Fisher's eyes widened as the firearm came into his line of sight. His pupils dilated as if he was identifying his prey.

"Eddie, just do as he fucking says," Hafen pleaded, right as he finally recovered from his little trek earlier on.

Baker tightened his grip on Fisher's arm, probably near the point of maiming the entire limb. The palms of my hand tingled, followed by a sharp, cold shiver down my spine. Something was going to happen. Something that would have made the whole situation uncontrollable, and by god were my instincts correct.

Fisher's rage had reached its boiling point. Lumps of saliva had started dripping from his mouth. His face wobbled with anger as he stared down the assault rifle that was aiming at him. He looked up at Hendrick, who was already experiencing bouts of discomfort. "Alright then, are we good now?"

Fisher did not respond. He maintained his unnerving stare. Hendrick nodded slowly and gently lowered his rifle, which would only serve to be the biggest mistake he ended up making at that point.

Fisher screamed loudly, his face roaring red with frustration. He raised his free hand and punched Baker in the side of the head, forcing him back. Baker relinquished his grip on Fisher's arm in order to cradle the wound left on his cheek, giving Fisher the opportunity he needed to make a break for it.

Hendrick stood his ground, visibly astonished by Fisher's speed. Within half of a second Fisher had already charged into Hendrick, before the pair started wrestling for the gun. Fisher clasped onto the barrel of M16 and tugged on it, using his other hand to force Hendrick's head back.

"Somebody get this maniac off me," Hendrick roared.

Baker tried to approach them, but found himself hesitating seeing as Fisher managed to improve his grip on the rifle. He couldn't get within five feet of them, which was much better than what I could say for myself and Hafen. We crouched in an attempt to remain out of the line of fire.

"Shit!" Hendrick tripped on Fisher's oversized boot and fell back, firing a shot in our direction. We threw ourselves to the ground to avoid the accidental discharge, before the bullet pierced through the other end of the tent.

Fisher pulled the rifle away from Hendrick. He turned around, waving the rifle at us. The flustered look on his blood red face didn't bode well for us. "I'm going to see my wife now," he croaked. "I need to see her."

Baker rose from the ground slowly, stepping back to maintain a reasonable distance from the rifle. "Please Eddie. Don't do this. Stop before you go too far." I was impressed that Baker still had the adherence necessary to confront Fisher.

"Too far? Fuck, I've gone too far already sir," he sobbed. "Why stop now?" He lowered his rifle, and pointed it towards the ground behind him. I glanced at Hendrick, who was attempting to crawl back to the infirmary. "Why fucking stop now, after all the shit you've done to me?" He quivered his lip and shut his eyes, before a sharp snap emitted from behind him.

"Fuck!" I peered at the opening, gasping in horror as Hendrick screamed in pain. "He fucking shot me! He shot me in the fucking leg!" He grasped his bloodied leg, rolling from side to side to resist the pain.

"I'm going to see her now," Fisher droned. "Don't try to follow me, or you'll end up like him." He stepped over Hendrick, grunting at the blood pouring from his wound, before shoving him back into the room with his foot. He made his way inside and zipped up the opening.

"Oh my god," I whispered. "Hafen, find someone. Anyone. Just find someone who has a fucking gun."

"There's no point," Baker interrupted. "There are more men in there, and they probably heard what was going on out here." He moved towards Hendrick, who had managed to stem the flow of blood with his hands. "The moment he walks inside, they'll be waiting for him." He kneeled and observed Hendrick's wound. "Hang in there sir. We'll get you out of here soon."

"For Christ's sake," he moaned. "That's the second time that asshole shot me." He waved Baker away from him. "I'll be fine. Just make sure that fucker doesn't come back here." He scooted back towards one of the nearby plastic chairs and rested against it. "No, forget that. I've trained with most of the men here. I know they'll take good care of him."

I trembled at the thought of it. All of the personnel who guarded this area were former Special Operations members, who probably embarked on some pretty dangerous assignments in the past. Fisher wouldn't last two seconds against a group of such men, especially if they were expecting him to arrive. I sat myself down in one of the chairs, cradling my head tightly. "I can't believe this is happening," I mewled. "This is all my fucking fault."

"No, it's not." Baker removed and wrapped his shirt around Hendrick's injured leg and stood up. "They put you in this mess, so it's their fault. You just didn't have a choice." He raised his eyebrows in a casual manner. "And that's not the only thing they're responsible for."

I looked down, recalling the badly mashed skull of John Doe, and the defiled throat of his wife. "I know," I muttered. "I can't believe I signed up for this bullshit."

Baker stood guard at the entrance, gazing at it cautiously. I remained quiet, considering what Baker just said. Baker had never expressed much concern for our welfare and he had always been quick to follow orders, but I realized that it was merely a facade. Baker, like myself, cared about his family, and thus didn't have much leeway to argue with his senior officers. I could tell from the concerned look on his face that he regretted not being able to stop Fisher, which was a feeling I shared. I could have grappled Fisher when I had the chance and I could have prevented this disaster from occurring, but I couldn't bring myself to fight him. We were indeed brothers and having to wait for him to be apprehended, or possibly killed, didn't do much to calm me down. My desire to sabotage the virus had brought me to the attention of the scientists, which led me to performing this sick and unforgivable task. That was a moment that was going to leave a mental scar far deeper than anything else I had encountered at that point.

"Wait," Hafen announced. "I heard something."

A loud crash emitted from the surgery ward, followed by an angry yell. I half-expected a gunshot to follow the surprisingly loud smash, but nothing followed.

"Let's go in," I suggested.

"With no weapons? Good idea," Hendrick sneered.

Baker nodded at me and made his way into the infirmary, before he peered back in at me and beckoned me. "All clear."

Hendrick rolled his eyes and scooted back to the chair. "Put that fucker's head on a plate for me," he growled, reminiscent of his anger during our previous encounter months ago.

I joined Baker inside the infirmary before we made our way down to the end of the room, stepping over the broken glass on the ground. We closed in on a small opening which had several splotches of blood on it. We zipped it open slowly, gulping as the interior of the ward became visible.

"Get him out of here," Professor Higgins ordered. Two armed personnel approached Fisher's body and hoisted him up in their arms, both of whom came to a grinding halt as we entered the room.

"What the hell? You're not supposed to be in here," one of the soldiers stated. Fisher's head was slumped over his upper arm, exposing a gash in the right side of his head.

Baker advanced towards them. "What the hell happened?"

"Back off," the other soldier ordered. "Both of you get out, now."

I looked at Higgins, whose face seemed to be completely flushed. He presumably witnessed the conflict that took place, which didn't say a lot for Fisher's chances of survival. He refused eye contact with us and sauntered his way back into the surgery ward. As he sidled through the opening, I peered into the ward, gagging at the several small pools of blood on the floor. I looked up at one of the nurses in the room, gasping as I identified the bloody lump in her arms. She held a child in her arms, far larger than any of my kids were when they were born. It was caked in blood and guts, but it appeared to be alive. "How's Mrs. Fisher? Did she make it?"

"If I have to get violent, I will." One of the soldiers reached back for the rifle hanging over his shoulder, which gave Baker and I enough of an indication that our presence was not welcome.

Baker tugged on my shirt. "Let's just go."

I risked another look at the ward, flinching when the nurse caught my eyes and zipped up the opening. "Alright then," I affirmed. "Let's go."

* * *

><p><em>2208/65_

We were held in until the situation had been rectified. The hospital food was hard to cherish and the discomfort of the beds were comparable to the seating of the MB. I managed to get a couple of hours' worth of sleep, despite the fact that we had yet to be informed of what happened to Eddie and Anne.

I crawled my way out of bed, ignoring the stiffness in my back from resting on such a rock solid mattress. I looked around, silently cursing when I realized that the room was completely vacant. We were supposed to present ourselves outside Lieutenant Colonel Williams' private tent to discuss the events that transpired the other day. I slipped on my shirt and combats, and made my way outside, shielding my eyes from the blazing sun.

I approached one of the soldiers patrolling the perimeter, who directed me towards Williams' tent, which I imagined was going to be the pinnacle of luxury on the entire site. I sniggered softly as I approached his accommodation, which was roughly the same size as the bunker I had spent the previous night in.

I made my way through the entrance and sat myself down by the lavish wooden table in the middle of the room, observing the unsurprisingly top-tier assets he possessed. The man had everything, including a very modern looking dresser, a grand king-sized bed and his own personal refrigerator filled to the absolute brim with food, which probably didn't do him a lot of favors when it came to his massive weight.

"Who's there?" Williams waddled into the tent with a glass of water in his left hand, eventually realizing who I was. "Ah, Corporal Johnson," he said discontentedly. "I've already spoken with Sergeant Baker and Private Hafen, but I have yet to hear your side of the story." He rested his glass on the table, before pulling over another of his pricy looking chairs. "So, let's make this quick so we can all get on with our work."

"Whatever your definition of work is, sir."

"I'd be careful of what you say, Corporal. You and your little squad have seen things that no other man on this campus would have the privilege to witness," he gloated, taking a sip of his water. "Our work here is important, and I do believe that you have a family in Florida." He folded his arms, revealing a sly smile. "If you don't behave, you might not see them for a long time."

"Of course, that's your solution to everything," I added, rolling my eyes. While the scientists had some degree of influence, Williams was the one who controlled the timetables. He could decide who could go home and when they could go home, which made him a very difficult man to argue with. Even men who had families in Hope could be refused a visit to their loved ones, which was something Fisher realized when he started bringing up Williams' hilariously feminine middle name. It was also something that was brought to my attention after our little scuffle in early January that I am sure he hadn't forgotten about at that point. "Now, what do you want from me?"

"Like I just said, I have yet to hear your side of the story." He slammed his glass down on the table, which left me with an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. As always, our conversations were going to be immensely tense and it would probably end up with me being stuck with another load on my mind. "I just want to ask you some questions and I would_ appreciate _if you answered them to the best of your ability."

I reckoned if I had to be subject to an interview with such a dry man, I should at least try to get something out of him, even if I did risk irritating him. "No problem. I just want to find out what happened to Private Fisher and his wife. And I would also appreciate if you answered my question to the best of your ability."

Williams, as I had expected, did not approve of my interrogative. "They're alive, and that's all I'm allowed to tell you," he frowned.

"Thank god," I sighed with relief. Fisher's wound wasn't as bad as it seemed, and I would soon find out that it was just an injury from a physical struggle with Higgins' escorts. "What about the kid?"

"Alive and well," he muttered. He pulled up the waist of his trousers and adjusted his posture. "Now, let's begin." He glared at me. "I will be asking the questions now, Corporal."

"Fair enough," I responded, leaning back in my chair and resting the back of my head in my hands. "Shoot."

The interview started off fairly simple. I had to answer regarding my departure from Fisher's house and my arrival at the hospital, before I delved into my encounter with Higgins, while I avoided bringing up the unsettling scar he had on his back. I found myself being put off by Williams' large stomach, especially as it collided with the edge of the table whenever he took a deep breath, which probably explained why Williams had corrected me on three occasions for avoiding eye contact.

"I won't ask you again, Johnson!"

"Alright, sorry." His flabby face wasn't a particularly joyful sight either, but it was the only thing that kept my mind off his perturbing digestive system at that moment. "You were saying?"

"I want to know about what happened to Hendrick," he sighed. "According to the men in his squad, he was armed when he went to check up on you."

I could feel my mouth run dry, struggling to make a response. "I didn't really do anything to stop him," I croaked. "I couldn't have."

Williams licked his lips and leaned forward. "I'm more interested in how he managed to get his hands on the Staff Sergeant's rifle."

"What do you think? He ran up and grabbed it off him." I pictured the moment he broke free from Baker's grasp. "I should have tackled him or something. Fuck me," I whispered.

"Hey." Williams snapped his plump fingers. "Stay with me, Johnson."

I shook my head. "It happened so damn fast. He just snapped and went for him. Hendrick didn't have any time to react."

"Really?" His brow furrowed. "So a man with a decade of military experience and a black belt in a martial art I can't even fucking pronounce, got trumped by some skinny yokel?"

"I assume Private Hafen and Sergeant Baker told you the same?"

Williams slumped back into his chair. "Unfortunately, yes. I was hoping their side of the story was exaggerated, but that doesn't appear to be the case." This suggested that Hendrick altered his view of the situation to alleviate the embarrassment, which was understandable, considering that it was the second injury he sustained that year.

"He knocked him down and shot him in the leg. He seemed really dazed, so he probably didn't know what he was doing."

"I see," Williams nodded his head. "And you followed him into the infirmary?"

"Yeah. We heard a loud crack from the surgery ward, so we went to investigate." I paused for a moment, reminding myself of the injury on his head. "He wasn't in a favorable state when we found him, sir."

"He got a whack across the side of his head by one of Hendrick's men," he flaunted, recreating the attack with his hands. The sharp grin on his face while he performed the act enraged me.

"You seem awfully proud of him," I scowled. "Margaret."

"Excuse me?" He stood. "You leave my grandmother out of this, you little shit." The flab on his chin wrinkled as he roared at me, which made it difficult to perceive his insults as a sign of intimidation. "Now you have no right to sympathize with Private Fisher, after he put your squad and his own wife in danger."

"After all the sh-"

"I don't want to hear another word," he growled. "You're already on thin ice, Corporal Peter Johnson, and I'll be at the fucking bottom when it breaks."

"If you can swim with that much fat on your gut, then it's a fucking date," I retorted. I could feel my stomach growling violently as my words left my mouth, just as I discerned what I had just said. "Damn it," I whispered.

Williams froze, alarmed by my outburst. His swollen face trembled with anger, stuttering as he tried to form a rational response. "Get out," he wheezed. "I'll deal with you and your squad later. You are not to tell a single person about what occurred yesterday, or I'll come for you."

"Fine then." I threw my chair back and marched towards the entrance, refusing to even acknowledge his authority with a salute. A man like him didn't deserve the slightest bit of respect for displaying such a childish outlook.

* * *

><p><em>2208/65_

"I don't fucking believe this!" I slammed my fists down on the table, which easily caught the attention of a civilian who was sitting nearby, who I responded to with an angry stare.

"Keep it down," Baker whispered angrily. "Things are complicated enough. I don't need you telling the whole damn world about it."

It was absolutely unbelievable. We were refused our departure slips, despite the fact that I fulfilled my end of the bargain. I clenched my fists tightly, to the point where my fingernails were digging right into the palms of my hands.

"After all of the shit I've gone through, this is how they repay me?"

"You're not the only one in this mess, Corporal! Now, keep it down," he muttered, staring down the men standing opposite our table.

"Gemma is going to go fucking crazy," I moaned, burrowing my head into my hands. "It's been two months. Two fucking months since I've been home!"

Fortunately, Baker and Hafen were also refused their slips, which meant that at least I wasn't going to be stuck in Hope on my own. I still dreaded the thought of being away after promising my wife that I would eventually return home. Jake and Tyler's birthday was in a week and, like the previous year, I was going to end up missing it, which would inevitably result in my wife refusing several phone calls from me.

"I think we're up next," Baker announced, tilting his head at the two men who had just made their way out of the phone room. "Let's go."

"What about Hafen? Isn't he going to call his girlfriend?"

Baker shook his head slowly, and the curdled expression on his face was enough of an indication of how Hafen reacted to the news.

"Figures," I sighed. "Alright then, let's go."

I could feel my insides churning as we approached the phone booths, and a cold sensation ripped through my spine as I gripped the phone.

"Best of luck, Johnson," Baker scoffed as he approached his booth. I was going to need plenty of luck with the torture I was going to be subject to.

I keyed in my home number and waited anxiously for Gemma to answer. My mouth dried up as her voice eventually surfaced from the device.

"Johnson residence," she bleated.

"Hey baby," I gulped.

"Peter?" The spike of tension in her voice didn't do much to keep me calm. "Is that you?"

"Babe, I'm so sorry I didn't call. Things have been so hectic for me," I said, slowly breaking down when her muffled cries penetrated my ears. "So hectic, babe." I tried my best to keep Fisher out of my head.

"What the hell happened to you? I thought you were supposed to come home two weeks ago."

The massive lump in my throat hampered my ability to console her in a genuine manner. I couldn't believe that after a fortnight of severed communication, I was going to have break to her some of the worst news I have heard up to that point.

"Uh, yeah, about that."

I really didn't feel like reciting the rest of our conversation. It might sound ridiculously weak of me to be afraid of sharing a simple conversation, in spite of some of the extremely graphic events that had just taken place before that very moment, but let's just say that the excess of blubbering and cursing wasn't a pleasant memory.

"You alright, kid?" Baker placed his bulky hand on my shoulder, right as the line died.

"Couldn't be better," I droned.

I was in no mood to speak with anyone, so I decided to make my way home without waiting for Baker. I strolled outside, delaying my movement for a brief moment upon my sighting of Professor Higgins across the road, who immediately turned away when he detected me, before I continued down the street. I could feel him watching me from the corner of his eye as I left the area, which almost struck me with the urge to confront him. I was still curious about the astoundingly deep scar he had on his back, but I saved that thought for another time.

"Hey kid!" A bulky looking military jeep pulled over beside me, which served to remind me of the stomach cramps I suffered from as a result of the hazardous Willys MB I had commandeered the day before. A tall, fair-haired soldier rose from the passenger seat. "You need a ride back to campus?"

The coin dropping, I smiled broadly and approached the vehicle. "Sergeant Allan, isn't it?"

"Glad you remember me, son." Allan was the man who paid a visit to us at Gate B3 over a month ago, which led to me getting involved in the shitstorm around Fisher. He gripped his associate's shoulder. "Me and O' Mara here are heading back to the base with food supplies for the canteen. You want to come with us?"

"Sure," I shrugged. I lifted one of the crates of food and loaded it onto the other seat, before relishing at how comfortable the seating was compared to the death machine I drove around the town previously.

"Don't eye that stuff up," he cackled. "That's our dinner for the next week."

"I don't intend on, sir," I grinned, appreciating the light humor he was providing. Fisher and my family still weighed heavily on my mind, but the occasional laugh always helped me out when I was feeling down.

"Right, let's roll," Allan said, nudging his squad member on the arm. The jeep jerked forwards, with significantly less force than I had anticipated. It turned to the right, followed by a sharp screech, before speeding ahead towards the other side of town. Allan turned around to face me, with a unnervingly optimistic look on his face. "I never caught your name."

"Corporal Peter Johnson," I replied.

"Killian Allan, fireteam Bravo three, as you're probably already aware. This is Private Jason O' Mara."

"Nice to meet you," Jason said, without taking his eyes off the dirt road.

"Likewise," I nodded.

"How did your little assignment go? I hope it went well for you," Allan continued.

"Assignment?" I bit my lip, trying to deduce how he might have found out. "Who told you anything about an assignment?"

"Well, Chalmers wouldn't call someone up from a patrol unless he had some sort of job to give him. I know the man far too well for that sort of jizz," he winked.

"I'm not authorized to discuss that kind of information, Sergeant," I added, trying as hard as I could to sound professional, which I imagine was something he could very easily see through.

"Of course not," he laughed. "Did you succeed?"

I bowed my head. I succeeded in doing the military's dirty work, as well as getting one of my squad members arrested, that much was true. Learning anything about the virus and managing to fetch a ride back to Florida? Failure would have been too light a word to show how much I fucked up. "Uh, yeah," I stammered. "Mission accomplished."

"Super," he exclaimed gleefully. "Step it up a bit, Private," he said, patting Jason on his shoulder.

I looked towards the hills, where the sun was just about to set, before I closed my eyes and tried to embrace the cool breeze. The photo of Fisher and Anne in their wedding attire, which I had the utmost umbrage to see back at their house, flashed through my mind, leaving an irritating pounding rhythm in my head. I still couldn't believe how things went from bad to worse in just the space of a single day. I cursed myself for not being able to do anything to avoid such a fate, but I accepted that I was too tired to spend the rest of the evening worrying about it. I eventually fell into a deep sleep, exhausted by the mental trauma I had been subject to for the last couple of weeks. Little did I know that the shitstorm had just started to brew, and it would have been several years before it calmed.


	8. ARRIVAL

**Chapter 7**

ARRIVAL

* * *

><p><em>0301/66_

Baker and I dragged ourselves towards the entrance of the base, exhausted from our daily jog. We made the mistake of embarking on our typical sprint around the countryside without paying any heed to the clouds that were looming over the town, so we were subject to a quite a lot of rainfall as we made our way home. Baker literally leapt inside as we passed the entrance, savouring the fact that we had finally reached shelter.

"Fuck me," he puffed, before slipping off his jacket. "I'm drenched." He rested his back on a nearby window ledge, still wheezing after our little marathon across Hope. "We went out way too far."

I wasn't in a particularly favorable state either, but I managed to catch my breath relatively quickly. "At least we're home now," I panted. "Where's Hafen?"

"Probably still out there," he shrugged, looking out at the barrage of rain saturating the concrete. "There's no way in hell I'm going back out there to find him."

"I don't blame you." Hafen had a tendency to take multiple breaks during our jogs. We were forced to abandon him while he was resting on the outskirts of town when we felt the first few drops of rain. I couldn't say I was looking forward to his return. I looked out longingly at the courtyard, half expecting Fisher to arrive behind us as he usually would have.

"You need to stop worrying about him," Baker said. I had no reason to be surprised by his comment, since I spent almost every day for the last four months longing for another meeting with Fisher, and my reactions to his departure were all too noticeable.

"I know," I groaned. "I just want to straighten things out with him. I never got the chance to even try."

Fisher had been apprehended and placed on an unofficial court martial overlooked by General Stillwell himself. However, the little intrusive stroll he made into his wife's ward had him branded a top priority individual in the eyes of the government, so he couldn't be brought out of the town for an official hearing. According to a little chat I had with Higgins almost a few months ago, I learned that he was lumbered into solitary confinement for a month and was forbidden from seeing his newborn son. Of course it also goes without saying that he was stripped of his military role, which probably had the strongest impact on his mentality. I had always intended on approaching him, but I found myself becoming extremely fretful every time his home came into view, so I always ended up bailing out before I could even get near his door.

"You had a whole four months to do that Johnson," he stated while he finished wringing out his sleeves. "It's time for you to move on."

I nodded without even so much as a tint of sincerity. I supposed that I was capable of holding the bad thoughts in, but they weren't going to leave my conscience that easily. "I just hope that I can work up the guts I need to speak to him."

"Yeah," Baker grunted, but the sullen look on his face suggested that he wasn't in favor of it. Baker, like myself, hadn't spoken to Fisher either, and I guessed that his reasons for avoiding contact were more or less the same as mine, only that he was far better at holding his feelings back.

"Assholes!" I redirected my view towards the courtyard, grimacing as Hafen sprinted in our direction. "You fucking assholes," he gasped. Hafen paused to breath and tried to comb his wet patch of bright yellow hair with his fingers. His saggy clothes looked almost as if they were going to slither off him, which probably explained why I was so anxious to maintain my distance from him.

"Don't worry Private, you'll dry off soon enough," Baker condoled. I could detect a slight grin forming on his face as he gripped the soaked remains of Hafen's jacket.

"I don't give a fuck about my clothes," Hafen growled in the usual manner. "I just can't believe you dicks left me behind. I slipped into a patch of mud trying to catch up with you." His attempts to garner sympathy merely fuelled Baker's visible urge to burst into laughter, which he managed to cover up with his hand.

"We didn't have a choice," he muffled. "You'll be fine once we get some food into you."

Hafen rambled on with some random profanity as he made his way into the hallway, completely oblivious to Baker's amusement.

"Some kid, huh?" Baker beckoned me, and we followed Hafen into the hallway, before making our way to the mess hall to fetch some lunch. As well as a couple of towels.

* * *

><p><em>0801/66_

Being called to the town hall for a conference meeting was nothing short of a shock. I found myself wondering why Williams would resume such an event after the bullshit with the newborns back in August.

It had been an entire year since I saw this many men gathering in this very hall. The scratches and blemishes in the walls had finally been taken care of with a new load of paint, and the massive stockpiles of food reserved in the back of the hall had been moved to a new location and hopefully one where they actually belonged. Ever since Fisher's court martial, our squad had been subject to several tours of night patrols in the town and we ended up spending most of our breaks in the conference hall. Chalmers didn't feel too secure with the idea of a three man squad guarding the town's gates, so we ended up having to change our schedule on several occasions, much to my dismay. The hall had to been reduced to state of disarray ever since the meetings were discontinued, so the renovations were certainly welcome.

"It's crowded as hell," Hafen shouted, his voice barely audible over the hundred or so personnel blabbering away in their seats.

I looked back at the double doors leading outside. Sergeant Major Chalmers remained beside the entrance with two armed personnel, clearly struggling to maintain a conversation with them over the horde of men chatting away in the centre of the establishment. We managed to sidle our way through one of the rows and obtain a few seats next to one of the windows near the back.

"When is this shit going to start?" Hafen's pissy personality was already beginning to take its toll, in spite of the fact that we were there for no more than five minutes.

"I wonder what they'll be talking about," I yelled at Baker, refusing to acknowledge Hafen's typical display of impatience.

"Probably an update with the newborns," he responded loudly, although he was acutely unaware of how close his mouth was to my ear. "It's been a while since we've heard about the first ones, y'know?"

A sound point, and not surprising since Baker keeps good track of the information we're fed with regards to the virus, even if it did lead to me seeing some daunting things during my time in Hope. "Yeah that's right," I yelled, trying to ignore the throbbing in my ear.

I looked to my left, recollecting how Fisher had almost always sat next to me during the meetings, as well as how he and a few other men from multiple squads would howl insults as Williams approached the podium, before shrinking into their seats whenever he reacted. I glared at the man sitting next to me, picturing him as a larger, less whimsical version of Fisher, which I imagined was a state he had degraded to following the loss of his occupation.

"Johnson? You alright?" I flinched as the mirage faded, revealing Private O' Mara from Killian Allen's squad.

"Oh shit, sorry," I replied, trying to restore my balance on my chair. "I kinda zoned out for a second there."

"No problem." I could tell from the concerned look on his face that he didn't seem to think much of my mental state, before he turned to look up at the podium.

"Attention!" Silence enveloped the room, with the exception of a few giddy privates near the back jeering at Williams as he demanded silence. "Alright, all of you listen up!"

"Took him long enough," Hafen whispered, only to end up pouting at us when he eventually realized that we were paying no heed to his complaints.

"Alright then, our conference meetings, as you can see, are now resuming," Williams stated, surprisingly ignoring one of the soldiers near the back who continued to make some noise. "However, these little gatherings will not be taking place on a weekly basis like last year. We will decide when to facilitate these meetings."

I had no genuine interest in the frequency of the meetings. The reason why the meetings were suddenly allowed to continue was the issue that piqued my interest, and this moron was doing nothing to help satisfy my curiosity.

"Aside from that, I have nothing to report with regards to your timetables." Judging by the sniggering of some of the men sitting near me, I assumed that I wasn't the only one who figured that our timetables would not remain stable for very long. "So, I'm going to hand you over to Professor Higgins."

I wasn't aware of his presence until he surfaced from his seat in the front row, primarily due to the abundance of soldiers sitting behind him. I could feel my bowels growl as he stepped onto the stage, which wasn't a great indication of how things were going to turn out.

Higgins stepped onto the podium, fiddling with the few clumps of grey hair he still had on his head, before he looked up to face us. "Good morning," he droned. "I'm glad that I now have the opportunity to share information with the very men who have made this whole project possible." He risked a look in our direction, making it clear that he was aware of our presence. "There has been some demand for additional insight into REDLIGHT over the last year," he added, resuming eye contact with the rest of the men. "Particularly with the progress we have made with the children of Hope."

Baker nudged me the moment the newborns were mentioned. "Told you," he bragged, although I was fairly convinced that they were going to be today's topic regardless. I responded with a slight nod, keeping my eyes on Higgins.

"A lot of the information we have is classified," he groaned in a foolhardy attempt to sympathize with the soldiers.

"Course it fucking is," Jason whispered to one of his squadmates. I was glad to see that a significant portion of the men in the vicinity had started muttering negative comments across the hall, who were clearly getting sick of the secrecy of the entire project.

Higgins cleared his throat. "As I was saying. A lot of information is still classified, but we have managed to provide a watered down version of our research to share with you."

"In other words, it'll be a vague as fuck, " I whispered, which Baker replied to with a slight grin.

"We have made some outstanding progress over the last year. Our biological research has become nothing short of a massive success."

"Get on with it!" The disgruntled shout that erupted near the left side of the hall was greeted by a chorus of laughter, one that Chalmers didn't seem too keen to join in on.

"Alright, that's enough," he lectured. "One more interruption and I'll start dishing out sewer patrols!"

"Ah yes, well then," Higgins muttered, no doubt left flabbergasted by the reception he received. "We have managed to retrieve a few more infants for our project, and we have made some astonishing discoveries."

The whispering around us died down, before everyone started pitching in to hear the update. I honestly wasn't expecting much, considering how Higgins loved to evade the finer details, but the tingling in my bowels continued, almost to the point that I couldn't figure out that if the bowl of muesli I had that morning was the main cause, or if it was the rapidly increasing feeling of anguish lashing its way through my mind.

"Like the children we mentioned last year, they all have experienced accelerated growth rates. In fact, for example, the most recent one that we extracted in August already has developed the build of a one year old child, and has developed the intellect necessary to learn to walk."

"That's Fisher's kid," I said, my jaw dropping.

"A one year old, huh? I wonder what Fisher thinks," Baker stated.

"Assuming that he actually gets to see him." I found it easy to believe that Fisher was still restricted from seeing his son, considering the lengths that he went to just to see his wife after she had given birth.

"However, we have also noted that the senses of our older subjects have experienced some astounding development in the last few months," Higgins continued, referring to a small brown document he pulled from inside his lab coat. "From tests we had performed recently, we have come to the conclusion that our oldest child, who had just turned one years old a month ago, has developed the ability to see in the dark."

The entire hall erupted into a frenzy. Commanding officers tried eagerly to calm their men, the majority of whom expressed their disbelief in the form of excessive amounts of chatter and slur that probably would have made Hafen blush if he took the time to pay attention.

Baker nudged me, with an expression reminiscent of the time he had showed me the photo of John Doe's wife. "See in the fucking dark? Are they trying to create some kind of super soldier or something?"

Even I couldn't believe that such a defect could have been possible. Granted, there have been cases of human beings developing a greater sense of sight to the point that improved visibility in the dark was possible, but for something like this to develop so early in a human being's life cycle was astounding. Growth spurts were shocking enough as they were a year ago, but this was insane.

"That's enough!" Williams stood, diverting his small eyes towards the crowd of flustered men. The chatter died down, but there was still enough whispering going on near the back to make listening to Higgins nothing but a pure chore. "If anyone wants to have a conversation, do it outside and not here!"

"My apologies, gentlemen," Higgins stuttered. "I know that news of this caliber can be slightly disconcerting, but I assure you that this is an amazing discovery." Higgins started fiddling through the pages of his document. "We're doing something that no other nation on Earth has even come close to perfecting."

"Excuse me Professor." I tilted my head to face Chalmers, who had to stand on his toes to remain visible. "May I ask a question?"

"Of course Sergeant Major," Higgins beamed, concealing his document inside his coat. At least that meant that we weren't going to be subject to many more unnerving announcements, which would save my ears from any additional trauma.

"According to the press, this here virus was supposed to be used as some sort of biological defence against a commie attack, right?"

Higgins gripped his back and fiddled with his glasses. I knew from his nervous body language that his answer was going to be far from credible. "Ah, that's correct Sergeant. That's the reason we're here after all."

"How is enhanced eyesight supposed to count as some sort of defence against the Russians?" It was a sound point. If I had the chance to choose a reliable defence mechanism for the United States, I would have personally gone for something a little more explosive.

"Well Sergeant Major," Higgins stuttered, oddly having no problem with remembering his rank. "This is only one of the breakthroughs we have made so far. We still have many tests left to perform, more newborns to utilise, and more reports to file. This child's ability to see in the darkness isn't necessarily what we have spent the last year and a half searching for."

I couldn't exactly say that I felt very comfortable when he mentioned the 'utilisation' of more newborns, which was something Baker could clearly understand after I ended up spending the rest of the afternoon whining about it. "This guy's full of shit," I whispered.

"At least he has something interesting to say," Baker replied, rolling his eyes towards Hafen, whose fidgeting indicated that he was already getting bored of the meeting.

A Corporal near the front of the hall raised his hand. "Then exactly what is it that you're trying to get out this?"

Higgins paused for a moment, presumably coming up with some half-assed excuse to avoid spilling any more information, before shrugging and coming out with the usual bullshit. "I'm afraid that kind of information of classified. But you can be rest assured that everything we are doing is for the good of the future of our great country."

Another man near the front raised his hand. "What about the older kids, are they still growing as much as they were a year ago?"

"Their growth spurts have declined over the last few months, but they still continue to grow at an alarmingly fast rate," he smiled. "In fact, our oldest infant now bears the bulk of a four year old, and he has made some other astounding developments..." He paused as the men erupted in another chorus of conversation, before Chalmers managed to calm them down.

"A four year old, huh?" Baker shook his head. "Seems like a bit much for the poor kid." I on the other hand, was more interested in hearing more about these other 'astounding developments'.

"I think we might get an opportunity to hear about some side effects of this virus," I added, before I proceeded to raise my hand, only to see that several other men had gotten the same impression and proceeded to raise their hands.

Higgins pointed to Sergeant Allan, presumably the first man to have raised his hand. "Yes?"

"What do you mean by 'other astounding developments'? There has to be more to these growth spurts than you're letting on," Killian asked, practically taking the words out of my mouth.

"Well, I can't go into great detail at this time," he muttered, clearly regretting bringing it up in the first place. "But I can assure you that these developments have paved way for new insight into our research on biotechnology."

"Same old shit," I whispered. "Hiding this kind of stuff is just going to make people even more curious."

"I don't really expect much from Higgins either," Baker agreed. "I'd be more interested in what this fucker here has to say about this whole virus," Baker grinned, slamming his vascular fist into Hafen's groin.

"I've nothing to say", he wheezed while forcing Baker's hand away from him. "I'm just waiting for this shit to end."

"Come on Hafen," I smirked, glaring at Baker to keep him from giving away our little joke. "You must have something to say about the virus."

"I'm only here for the money, nothing else," he groaned. "Leave me the hell alone."

"Shut the fuck up." I glanced at the source of the irritated whisper, a stubby man sitting in front of Hafen, who had turned around to quieten him. "We're trying to fucking listen." Why they took the time to listen to Higgins' excuses was really beyond me.

Hafen stared back at him, before thrusting the palm of his hand into the man's face, pushing his shaved head back. "Go fuck yourself Clark," he muttered angrily.

"You little prick!" His roar gathered the immediate attention of his comrades, before he stood and gripped the legs of his chair. He hoisted it up and howled, evidently ignoring the screams of his commanding officer ordering him to desist, before tossing the chair at Hafen, causing him to fall back and slam into the ground. The man remained standing, flexing the muscles in his short arms. For a moment I was impressed by how he, and this was a man who was no taller than Chalmers, managed to react so quickly to Hafen's typical display of impatience, but my attitude was going to change fairly quickly.

"What the hell is going on here?" Chalmers approached the scene with admirable haste, pounding his oversized boots on the varnished wooden floors. The rest of the crowd turned to face us, with the exception of Higgins, who had disappeared from the podium following the attack.

The commanding officer in front of us stood up. "The blond guy started it sir. Corporal Clark was just defending himself," he explained.

Hafen remained incapacitated, visibly shocked by the events that had just unfolded. I couldn't believe it either. It was amazing how a little joke between Baker and I had quickly escalated into a fight between Hafen and some random guy with a hair trigger temper.

Clark glowered down at Hafen, supposedly not paying any heed to Chalmers, before he proceeded to step over the dismantled chair he had just used as a makeshift weapon.

Baker rose from his chair, forcing me to jerk away from him in order to avoid his bulky arms, before he reached out for Clark's shirt. "That's enough Richie. You don't want to wind up getting hurt, do you?"

Clark struggled to free himself, but was clearly attempting to do so without causing any physical harm to Baker. I knew from my personal experiences with him that Baker had a fairly cool head, even if he did wind up losing almost every poker game he's had with me, but he would never hesitate from defending himself if he was attacked, and I was certain that no man or woman in the town would have even dared to try.

"I would hardly think smashing someone over the head with a fucking chair is an ideal form of self-defence, Sergeant," Chalmers added, before he turned and raised his finger at Baker. "Alan Baker, take the Corporal outside."

"He called me by my full name, Richie. That doesn't look good for you," Baker whispered, before releasing Clark and escorting him to the door. It certainly didn't look good for Clark at all. The flustered look on Chalmers' face could easily be attributed to the giddy behavior of the men sitting around us, while the conflict that had just taken place was probably the last straw for him. Clark was going to end up having a rough time with Chalmers after the conference.

"Private Hafen, get the hell off the floor," Chalmers snapped, before Hafen's perception of reality finally kicked in and allowed him to respond without any further delay.

"Yes, sir," he whimpered, clearly still shaken from his clash with Clark, before he finally made an effort to scramble himself to his feet.

Williams stood and cleared his throat. "Alright, this meeting's over. Starting from the back row, I want all of you marching outside in an orderly fashion. Get moving!"

One by one the men rose from their seats and quietly strolled outside, some of whom had paused for a brief moment to glance back at Hafen.

"Those stupid cunts keep looking at me," he seethed. I placed my hand on his shoulder and not for the sake of comforting him, but to keep him from sprinting outside to start another brawl.

"Don't worry, the guy will get what he deserves," I added, tightening my grip on him as small drips of drool surfaced from his lips. "Keep it cool, Private. Keep it cool."

Private O' Mara looked back at Hafen. "You alright man?"

"I'm fine," Hafen affirmed, barely suppressing the urge to start swinging his fists. O' Mara nodded in response, before he and his squad made their way outside.

"Let's just fucking go," Hafen grunted, and I had no choice but to agree. I was hoping to satisfy my curiosity by asking Higgins about the miscellaneous details that he left out, but I accepted that I would have to wait before I could get an answer.

* * *

><p><em>0901/66_

"That was fucking insane," I laughed as Baker arrived at the table.

"I know. Super mutated babies, and then Hafen gets his ass handed to him." He sat himself down and started digging into his cereal. "Can't believe Chalmers kept me in for the whole fucking day, and in the end I still couldn't get Hafen off sewer duty."

After the meeting Baker insisted upon remaining at the conference hall to sort things out with Chalmers and Williams, only to end up being gone until later that night. I wouldn't have even considered going to such lengths to help Hafen get out of trouble, but I figured Baker had to do it to instill some kind of confidence into the Lieutenant Colonel, since allowing such a conflict to occur didn't really do a lot of good for his resume. I only hanged around for about an hour, before I had to return to the base to fetch myself a well-deserved meal, since listening to a load of controversial shit from a bewildered scientist can leave you with quite an appetite.

"Good thing Hafen stayed down," I added, trying to speak over the slurps and splutters coming from his mouth. "Lord knows what would have happened if things went that far."

"Ah well, at least he managed to avoid pissing off Chalmers too much. Richie got himself a week of sewer duty for that, and now he's banned from any future meetings," Baker said, shoving another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "Hey, kinda reminds you of what happened last year," he smirked, taking no notice of the trails of milk dribbling down his chin.

"Shit. Getting into a fight with some dick bag is one thing, but I got off really light after hitting Williams," I chortled. "Fucker deserved it though."

"Let's hope Hafen doesn't end up in the same situation." It was incredibly unlikely, considering how Hafen and Williams had a tendency to avoid contact with the other men. It wasn't much of a problem for a mere Private, but it was definitely a call for concern if a military commander was lazily avoiding any attempts to motivate his own troops. "Oh yeah, Chalmers has us on radio duty today." That announcement, alongside the frown that formed on his face as he spoke, told me everything I needed to know.

I burrowed my head in my hands. "Don't fucking tell me it's inspection day," I groaned. As always, Chalmers had to lumber a squad on the base's radio station whenever we were expecting a call from the town, and somehow it was always our squad that ended up answering it on the monthly inspection day. "Chalmers has to be fucking with us. This shit is getting far too coincidental. We're always the ones who have to answer Williams when he's coming up for his inspection."

"I'm not one for questioning my superiors," Baker shrugged, acting as if that characteristic wasn't already ridiculously apparent. "Charlie two will be finished at one, so we're up after lunch."

"Can't say I'm looking forward to it," I grunted, staring longingly at the chair beside me.

Baker looked up at me with a clear look of irritation. "Fisher isn't there, Peter. He never will be. Quit thinking about him."

I maintained my gaze at the chair, recalling the times that he would sit there talking about the guns he cherished the most, and about how much of an impatient little prick Hafen was being while he was waiting for us to finish our food. "I know Sarge," I sighed. "I know."

After grabbing a few sandwiches from the mess hall, we made our way to the communications room. I inhaled the stale air of the room as I opened the door and heavily regretted the fact that the room had no windows. I scanned the contents of the desk at the other end of the room, sighing deeply as I approached it. I gripped the dark green box and lifted it up, ensuring that it was properly connected, before pouting and placing it back on the table. "It's good to go," I groaned. I wasn't looking forward to an entire day of sitting by the radio waiting for the same Texan accent to emit from the transceiver, announcing that he would be coming by for an inspection. There had been times I considered letting Williams arrive without warning the other personnel, just to see how he would react upon arriving on the premises to see the subpar hygiene, but Baker had always been the one who answered the radio so I never got a chance to test out my little trick.

"Right then," he said with a tad more enthusiasm than he should have. He rubbed his hands together and reached out for the receiver. "Let's get down to business."

The next hour passed without incident. We waited as patiently as we could by the radio, silently dreading the absence of Hafen. Making fun of Hafen was our way of passing the time, and it was something Fisher particularly excelled at when he was still around. All it took was one comment about Hafen's grumpy demeanor, or a bit of sarcastic chastisement regarding his girlfriend, and we easily managed to get a solid hour's worth of entertainment. That wasn't the case at that time, so Baker and I were forced to resort to small talk and we had to take frequent bathroom breaks just for the sake of avoiding the painfully boring atmosphere of the room.

"Say, Sarge." This was something I noticed at the conference hall after Hafen's confrontation and I had forgotten to question him about it. "You seem to know that Clark guy pretty well, huh?"

Baker looked up, puzzled by my inquiry. "What makes you think that?"

I shrugged, initially unsure if he would have taken my suggestion seriously. "It's just the way you talked to him. Richie this. Richie that."

"I didn't think it was that noticeable," he laughed, clearly unaware of his blunt nature. "Corporal Richard Clark. He was in our squad before you arrived."

I arrived in Hope a month after the entire project started, and Baker had been here from the very beginning. I was hired at such a late time due to the shortage of military personnel in the town, so it was entirely possible that another man had been there before I showed up. "Why wasn't he around when I joined the squad?"

Baker exhaled heavily and slammed his elbows onto the table, meaning that this was something that he even he was hesitant to share with me. I gulped, hoping it was a tale that wouldn't be on par with what he told me about John Doe's wife the previous year. "Clark is an angry man, as you probably already know," he began. "I was only familiar with him for around a month, but he was capable and he was a fairly obedient man." He cracked his knuckles and glanced around him, likely searching for anyone who may have been listening in at the time, before returning to resume our conversation. "But he was uncontrollable when he was pissed off. He had been reprimanded twice for assault in that month alone, but the men around here are rarely punished beyond a few days in the sewers," he sighed.

I nodded my head to indicate that I was listening, but I was confused with what he was saying. Almost every man operating in Hope, with the possible exception of the guys who worked in the town's Special Forces, had been on sewer duty at least once. Even Fisher's hilarious incidents of friendly fire towards Hafen earned him a couple of weekends working underground. "Fights happen, Sarge, especially around here."

Baker shook his head. "The fights around here are cock fights compared to what Richie got himself into. The first guy he went for came out of it with a broken nose and a fractured wrist." He fiddled with his orange goatee and paused, while his facial features slowly formed into a very regretful look. "The other guy had to be hospitalized for two weeks, due to concussion and loss of a massive amount of blood."

I could feel a sharp, tingling sensation rise up in my hands, and the saddened look on Baker's face wasn't doing a lot to put me at ease. "You seem fairly beat up over it, sir."

"I just feel like shit thinking about it," he explained. "Sure, he got a few days in solitary confinement, and more time in the sewers than our entire squad combined. But, I just can't really accept that I wasn't able to do anything about it."

I could feel a wave of sympathy rush through my conscience. The situation that Clark had put those men must have been far more harrowing than Baker was able to describe, and seeing him act so remorseful over it was a tad disconcerting, so a bit of sympathy was probably the one thing he needed at the time. "Officers can't keep tabs on their men all the time, sir."

He disregarded my attempt to console him and continued on with his story. "Sergeant Killian went ballistic, and demanded that Clark be disbanded, but there were only about fifty or so men on duty at the time, so Williams had to refuse," he continued.

My eye widened as he spoke. "Killian? From Bravo three?"

"Yeah. It was one of his privates that ended up in hospital." He had literally started ripping his goatee asunder at this rate. "Fuck me, what was his name?" He paused for a moment to think, before slamming his rock hard hands on the table and nearly startling me out of my chair. "Jason O' Mara! That was his name."

"He was sitting next to me yesterday."

"Yeah, I remember his face now. Fairly tall fellow with a strong looking jaw." He nodded, looking far more assured than he was a minute before. "Yeah. But bulk ain't everything," he stated, seemingly unwilling to make an exception for himself, since Baker's abundance of muscle gave him a startling amount of strength. "Clark looks like the kind of guy who would probably end up working in the circus or something. He's short, and he looks like a little asshole, but he's a deadly son of a bitch when he's provoked."

I had to agree. Clark didn't seem like much of a fighter, and his conflict with Hafen involved him using a plastic chair as a weapon, but later encounters with him were going to strongly suggest otherwise. "Was Hafen around when Clark was in your squad?"

Baker shrugged. "Yeah, but Hafen was the same little prick that he is today, so he didn't get along particularly well with Clark." He rolled up his sleeves and looked at me smugly. "But of course, I was always around when they were together, so nothing beyond a few verbal arguments happened." Baker's threatening physique may have meant that we were rarely picked on, but that didn't stop me from rolling my eyes at his futile attempt to brag. I straightened my posture and decided to return to the topic at hand.

"So what did you do after he took down O' Mara?"

"Isn't it obvious? I had him taken out of my damn squad," he frowned. "No way in hell was I going to have that little freak show giving my team a bad name."

"So what squad is he in now?" I could see that my flurries of questions were starting to irritate him, but his blunt nature pressed him on.

"Charlie three, under Sergeant Monroe," he said. "And that's all I know about him at the moment. I have no intention of being filled in on what he's doing now, so that's all I can say," he growled, conveniently right before I could open my mouth to ask something else. I stared at him momentarily, until I managed to come up with a question that he was able to answer without worrying about the past.

"You know, sir, this is some pretty big shit. Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Well, you never asked, so I just figured that you didn't need to know," he shrugged. Suppressing the urge to roar in blood curdling anger wasn't a simple task for me, since I was getting sick of having important information being thrown over my head.

"I see," I muttered, gripping my forehead tightly to try to keep myself calm. "I wonder if this guy is going to end up becoming a problem for us later on?"

Baker shook his head. "He knows bloody well what I would do to him if he tried to piss me off," he said sternly, sitting back and folding his arms. "If he tries to undermine my squad, he'll be going home on a stretcher. That much I can assure you," he promised, before his lips curled into a sly grin.

At that very moment, a sharp crackle of static erupted from the receiver, which Baker reacted to with an impressive display of speed. "This is Sergeant Baker, Alpha two squad leader, over."

Another crackle vented its way through the receiver, before Williams' dry Texas accent managed to break through the static. "This is the Lieutenant Colonel, reading you loud and clear" he announced vigorously, leaving me with the hassle of muffling my sniggers as he made his introduction. "Sergeant, please inform Sergeant Major Chalmers that I am en route for my monthly inspection."

Baker glanced at me with a broad smile. "Copy that. Of course, sir. I'll let the Sergeant Major know that you're coming, over."

"Thank you Sergeant," he droned, making no clear effort to extend his gratitude with a more convincing tone of voice. "Colonel Williams out."

As the sounds of static died down, I degraded into a fit of laughter. "What a cheap little fuc-"

Another sharp burst of static erupted from the radio. Baker cocked his eyebrow and retrieved the receiver. "This is Sergeant Baker, Alpha two squad leader, over."

"Ah yes. This is the Lieutenant Colonel again, Sergeant." I shot a confused glance at Baker, to which he replied to with a light shrug. "Once you inform Chalmers of my arrival, I want to you to go the town hall ASAP, over."

Baker stared blankly at the receiver, mumbling something under his breath, before placing it up to his mouth. "Say again sir, you want me to go the town hall?"

"Yes, Sergeant. You and the... Corporal are to make your way to the town hall." I couldn't help but snicker at his hesitation to mention my name. The corpulent fool was probably aware of my presence at the time. "Staff Sergeant Hendrick, call sign Healey, will be waiting for you, over."

"Wilco, Alpha two out," Baker said dryly, clearly still puzzled by the orders we had been given, but he naturally made no attempt to question them.

"What the hell does he want us at town hall for?"

"Hell if I know," Baker replied. "Maybe it has something to do with our timetables?" I doubted it. Chalmers was the one who informed squads of timetable modifications. Hendrick's responsibility was the ten or so Spec Ops troops in the town and he wouldn't interact with us unless he was ordered to do so by Williams or Stillwell himself.

"Oh fuck," I whimpered. "It's not another damn assignment, is it?"

"It can't be. You, me and Hafen don't have our families in Hope, so I doubt he'd have anything real important for us to do." He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. "At least, I hope not."

At least Baker's concerned outlook indicated that he hadn't forgotten about the impact that Fisher's incarceration had on our squad, but my joy at that realization was only momentary. "Shit, I'm worried now. I don't usually take what that fat fuck says seriously, but for once he's managed to catch my attention."

Baker shook his head slowly. "I don't know what it could be, Peter. I think it's just best that we get down there and get this shit out of the way as quickly as possible." He strolled towards the door and called out to a group of nearby men loitering in the hallway, ordering them to inform Chalmers of Williams' departure, before he stumbled his way back towards me. "Right then," he muttered nervously. "Let's go."

* * *

><p><em>0901/66_

In spite of the apprehension I felt as the town came into view, I have to admit that I was relieved to be out of the communications room. I took a brief moment to appreciate the cool January breeze as we departed from the base, but I eventually came to regret not taking vehicular transport.

"Christ, it's cold," I wheezed, rolling down my sleeves.

"Yeah," Baker grunted, munching on the remains of a sandwich he swiped from the canteen before we left.

I tilted my head, noting that Baker was swallowing down his food with less tenacity than usual, and I used the word 'tenacity' very lightly when it came to his table manners. "You alright, sir?"

He jerked his head at me, looking as if he had just seen a communist spy. "What? Oh no, I'm fine," he blurted out, but his blunt nature proved otherwise. "Just thinking about what we're going to be getting into."

I pouted, trying to suppress the growing urge to giggle at his nervous behavior. "That's strange, sir. I could have sworn you said you weren't one for questioning your superiors?"

"Very funny, Johnson." He gargled down the few lumps of chicken left in his mouth, much to my displeasure. "That doesn't mean I can't get worried about shit like this," he muffled. "Who knows what we're going to be getting into."

I shrugged, kicking a lump of dirt on the road into a nearby bush. "Knowing you sir, you'll do as you're told without saying a word," I gloated, trying to speak as quickly as I could before he could so much as even move his jaws to make a response or, more appropriately for him in this situation, move his fists. "I know you have a family to go home to, sir, but we have men to look after as well."

"Don't treat me like I don't fucking know that Corporal," he bellowed. "But sometimes you have to suck it up and move the fuck on, rather than sitting around and feeling sorry for yourself. The same goes for you," he stated, glaring at me with an impressive display of intimidation, but it would have taken more than a strong looking frown to have frightened me off.

"Fisher was a good man, sir, and you just let him go without a fight," I replied calmly, refusing to give in to temptation and initiate a verbal argument with him. I looked back towards the town. "I'm just hoping the same thing won't happen again, or we'll be in some serious trouble." Baker refused to reply, either of sheer stubbornness, or mainly because he knew I was right, and his nervous body language suggested that the latter was the case. After a moment of silence, accompanied by additional nervous fidgeting by Baker, I decided to make a bit of a follow-up. "What's worrying you about our new assignment, then?"

Baker sighed heavily, regretting prolonging the conversation any further than he would have liked to. "The same thing that you're worrying about," he outlined.

I nodded. "Losing another man," I agreed.

As we closed in on the entrance, I could feel some slight pressure on the door handle as I reached out to grab it. I stepped back as the double doors snapped open, revealing Sergeant Killian Allan, Private Jason O' Mara and two other men.

"Sergeant Baker, Corporal Johnson," Killian nodded, reaching out to shake my hand, before taking a step back when Baker attempted to greet him using the vein encrusted behemoths he called his hands. "What a coincidence, eh?"

The other two men smiled and extended their greetings, no doubt recognising us from the day before. O' Mara smiled politely as we shook his hand, but decided to remain quiet for the remainder of the conversation.

"What brings you here, Allan?"

"Probably the same reason as you Baker. Getting a phone call for my men here," he grinned, indicating O' Mara and a hard headed soldier behind him, who presumably had families outside Hope. Baker and I nodded back at him, having no intention of sharing the real reason why we were here. "That was quite a ruckus your squad caused yesteday," he added. "How's Private Hafen holding up?"

"Just fine. A few days in the muck won't do him any harm," Baker joked, the hearty laughter being echoed by Allan's squad.

"Of course not," Allan concluded with a broad smile, expressing the same bouts of optimism he was known for back then. "Anyways, we have to go back to the base and fetch something to eat. We have a gate to guard tonight, and we can't do it on an empty stomach. Right, boys?" He turned to face his men, clearly oblivious to the strong looks of uneasiness on their faces as he mentioned their upcoming patrol.

We bade our farewells to Allan and his men as we made our way into the town hall, flinching for a moment when we acknowledged Hendrick's presence at the reception, chatting away with the secretary of the building.

"Aw fuck," I muttered. The events of last year came back to haunt me again, and only Baker's massive upper body strength was enough to successfully keep me from sprinting out of the building.

"We might as well get it over with," Baker whispered, forcing an uneasy smile that instantly gave me a feeling of foreboding. I swallowed my fear and walked towards the reception with him, trying to push the developing thoughts of negativity to the back of my mind.

Hendrick turned to face us, no doubt alarmed by the small tremors coming from Baker's footsteps, before he dismissed the secretary he had just spoken to. "Sergeant Baker, Corporal Johnson," he saluted crisply, which we returned with less eagerness.

"Sir," Baker began. "The Lieutenant Colonel said that you wanted to see us?"

"Yes, he did." Hendrick fetched a set of documents laid out on the secretary's desk and started to flip through the pages. "Now what page was that on..."

Baker stood firmly, maintaining his gaze at Hendrick without losing face. I only wish that I could have said the same for myself. Each turn of each page invoked an increasing sense of despair on me, and I could almost feel my soul crunching underneath its own weight as he finally identified the page he had been seeking.

"I understand that you've been a three man squad for a while now?"

"That's correct, sir," Baker confirmed. "Ever since we lost Private Fisher."

"Of course," he grumbled, supposedly recalling the events of the day that had almost cost him his reputation. Being part of a Special Forces squad and getting your ass handed to you by a recruit with an itchy trigger finger could have meant nothing but total embarrassment for the poor Staff Sergeant. "Well, here's something that may take your mind off that," he droned, tearing the page away from the documents and handing it to Baker.

I could feel my stomach twist as Baker's eyes scanned the contents of the document. The overwhelming sense of nausea would have cost me my lunch, and possibly a half of an hour cleaning up the mess, had it not been for Baker's next inquiry.

"Wait, what's this supposed to be?"

Hendrick looked up, remaining placid despite Baker's reaction. "I know the last few months have been difficult for your squad, but this should make things a lot easier for you," he stated cheerfully. "Private Anthony Walker should be ready for transfer on the second of February."

I glanced at Baker hoping to seek an explanation, but he was too engrossed in the document to pay any attention to me. I directed my gaze towards Hendrick, whose dumbfounded disposition was probably enough to rival the stunned expression on Baker's face whenever I wiped the floor with him in a game of poker. "I don't understand what's going on."

Hendrick shrugged, clearly unable to decipher what was going through our minds at the time. "What do you mean you don't understand? Isn't it obvious?"

"Isn't what obvious?"

"This," Baker interrupted, handing me the document. He looked at me blankly, leaving me to wonder if I should have been worried or not. I straightened the crumpled sheet of paper and rolled my eyes down through the print, before my jaw tightened as I finally realized what was really going on.

"Oh my god," I gasped. "We're getting a new recruit?"


	9. ENCOUNTER

**Chapter 8**

ENCOUNTER**  
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><p><em>0202/66_

Baker, Hafen and I waited in the center of the courtyard, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the new recruit. Several squads of troops were departing from the base to attend their patrols, the majority of whom did so with little enthusiasm. It was unsurprising. It was a fairly humid Wednesday, so I could imagine that being unlucky enough to work on such a dull day couldn't have been all that fun. Commanding officers and their men stuffed themselves into their jeeps and departed swiftly, leaving huge clouds of dust and dirt in their wake. We were due for a patrol around town later that afternoon, but the arrival of our new squad member forced Chalmers to modify our timetable for us, which was something I was in no rush to complain about.

"I wonder what this guy will be like?" I was intrigued by Hafen's decision to strike up a conversation, which was something that he tended to avoid.

"Beats me," Baker replied. "But, I did a little bit of digging with Peter here, and this guy doesn't seem to be a very obedient fellow."

By god did I agree. Anthony Walker's personal record was filled to the brim with sewer patrol duties, and he had been convicted multiple times for theft, vandalism of property and verbal harassment. The men working in Hope usually got away with murder compared to anyone else serving in the army, but this was going too far. A man fighting in Vietnam with these many infractions would have been declared an enemy of the state several times over. However, as you probably know by now, General Stillwell was against the idea of disbanding men stationed in Hope for such petty crimes, considering that he needed every man he could get. "He's probably spent half of the last year working in the sewers," I suggested.

Hafen shrugged. "I've never seen anyone called Anthony Walker while I was down there." Of course he didn't. According to Chalmers, Hafen constantly whined about the smell of the sewers while he served there, even to the point that he was reassigned to the southern part of the town's sanitation system just to get him to shut the fuck up. "I don't know if we should have a guy like him in our squad."

"Sure," I agreed. "We already have to put up with you. We don't another pain in the ass."

As always, Hafen brushed it off by rolling his eyes and muttering some random profanity, but he had hardly any time to finish muttering the last few curses as Chalmers' Willy MB sped past the courtyard gate. The vehicle skidded to a halt, spraying a small dust storm in our direction, the majority of which had hit Hafen right in the eyes.

"Son of a bitch," he yelped, shielding his face from the oncoming load of dirt.

"Might teach you to watch your language," Baker sneered, before beckoning me and walking towards Chalmers' transport.

I could feel my eyes strain as I laid my eyes upon the jeep. It was the exact same jeep I used to transport Anne Fisher to the field hospital back in August, minus the blotches of blood that covered the passenger seat. "I remember this piece of shit all too well," I grumbled.

Chalmers removed his key from the slot, and the jeep's engines died down with a resounding crack, a sound that reminded me all too much of the racket coming from the machine when I first commandeered it. He approached us, slamming his needlessly large black boots on the dirt road. "Alpha two," he saluted, flexing his tiny forearms as he brought his hand to his head.

"Sir." We returned the salute, with a slight giggle coming from Baker as he attempted to greet the Sergeant Major.

"This is the day you've all been waiting for," he added. "I've taken the liberty of doing all the paperwork for you. No need to thank me," he grinned, raising his stubby fingers, implying that we were willing to do it in the first place.

"Thank you sir," Baker replied with all the modesty he could muster.

"Very well then." He pointed at the gangly looking figure fastened away in the back of the vehicle. "Private Walker, why don't you come over here and introduce yerself?"

"Oh shit, this should be interesting," Baker whispered to me, cocking his eyebrows as Walker made his way out of the vehicle and approached us.

I could feel a sharp smile trying to force its way onto my face as his physique became clearer to us. He was an astoundingly skinny individual, even slimmer than Fisher himself, wearing a shirt and pants that seemed to be a size too large for him. He wore a pair of round glasses, which had been supposedly fogged up by his journey in the MB. He had an incredibly untidy patch of brown hair, which gave me a fair indication of how long his last sewer patrol was.

"Private Walker," Chalmers continued, placing his arm around the Private's shoulder. "This is Sergeant Alan Baker, your new commanding officer and a good friend of mine. This is Corporal Peter Johnson, one of the bravest men I know." I found myself taken aback by Chalmers' compliment, but Baker was quick to put me down before I could start bragging about it. Chalmers pointed at Hafen, who was still rubbing his eyes out. "And this is... Private Mark Hafen," he shook his head disapprovingly. "Private, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Rubbing my eyes out obviously," he retorted, pausing for a moment to observe Walker. "You're pretty small for a criminal, eh?"

Baker and I looked back at Hafen in sheer horror, before turning back to face Walker. I reckoned that if this man was anything like what his service record suggested, another brawl was going to be on our hands. I tightened my jaw as Walker glanced at Hafen and proceeded to walk towards him. I raised my hand in an attempt to intervene, before Baker latched onto my wrist. "Just let it play out for now," he whispered, clearly intrigued by Walker's behavior.

Walker strolled closer to Hafen, but he remained unnervingly silent as he did so. Hafen stood his ground, but any man could have easily seen that he was scared. Having such an eccentric looking fellow approach you after you boldly insulted him couldn't have been something to be excited about. Walker stopped, maintaining a distance of just a few centimeters from his target. If there was a perfect time to start throwing punches, that would have been the time.

Walker stared at Hafen, motioning his lower lip, trying to come up with something to say. Hafen wasn't a particularly difficult man to contradict, so I was anxiously awaiting Walker's erratic response, before he raised his hand to Hafen. "Mighty pleased to meet you, sir," he grinned, revealing the direst set of teeth I have ever seen. He opened his hand, signaling for Hafen to shake it, before he backed away from the friendly gesture.

"No, I ain't that fucking stupid," Hafen growled. "You're a criminal. I've seen your damn record."

"I have a record? But I ain't a musician," he replied, making use of the worst kind of Southern accent I have ever heard.

"Don't mind him, Private Walker. He's a bit special," Baker added, walking out to greet him. "I'm Sergeant Baker. Welcome to fireteam Alpha two."

Walker glanced up at Baker and smiled from ear to ear, highlighting the hideous gap between his front teeth. "Mighty pleased to meet you too, sir."

I couldn't help but think that maybe Hafen was right to act so cautious. What if this guy was just bullshitting us? What if he was just acting stupid in order to win our approval, in the hope that we would overlook his nasty reputation and accept him as one of our own? I couldn't quite decide if this guy was trustworthy, so I decided to play it safe. Even the friendliest and most harmless of individuals could be dangerous, which was something that Fisher had managed to prove months prior.

Walker approached me with the same overcrowded smile that had been plastered on his face for over a minute. "Mighty pleased to meet you, sir."

His hand was cold and easy to squeeze. I figured it wouldn't have taken much to break this man's bones, but I decided to play along and not let his appearance fool me. "Yeah. Mighty pleased to meet you too, Private."

* * *

><p><em>0802/66_

Hafen and I took it upon ourselves to keep a sharp eye on Walker. I wasn't one for trusting Hafen's word. Hell, I would have been more likely to make fun of anything Hafen would say let alone have taken it seriously, but I found myself sharing the same feelings as he did. Walker seemed innocent, and was by far one of the most absentminded men I have ever met, but it was a persona that could have easily just been an act. It sounds childish to have been acting so superficial, but while I was in Hope my knack for gathering information had gotten me into trouble on multiple occasions, and all it took was a bit of caution to keep me alive.

Hafen and I sat in our squad's bunkroom. Hafen spent the afternoon scanning through his pornographic magazine, while I was busy having a fruitful conversation with the wall. Just because I shared Hafen's suspicions didn't mean that I had to co-operate with him over it, so staring at a huge slab of white concrete was the only thing that kept me entertained.

After a few minutes of meaningful banter with the wall, Baker and Walker finally returned from the mess hall. I looked up as they walked in, scowling at Baker's content expression while Walker trailed behind him with our laundry and lunch in his hands. "What the hell are you doing?"

Baker looked at me and smiled broadly. "Oh, he's just giving me a hand with the load."

I shook my head at Walker as he unloaded our uniforms into onto his bed and started folding them. "So you just give them whole thing to carry?"

Baker shrugged. "Well, I asked him to, and he did it without saying a word."

"Not unlike you," I added, which was something that clearly offended him despite his best attempts to conceal it, before I walked over to Walker and helped him with the clothes. "Here, let me give you hand," I insisted, taking a pair of combat trousers and straightening them out.

"Why, thank you very much sir," he said, using the same irritating yokel accent he was accustomed to.

Hafen started to dig into his sandwich, spraying crumbs all over the skinny model he had been drooling over for the last ten minutes, before he diverted his eyes to watch us organizing the clothes.

"By the way, Anthony, any clothes with jizz marks on them belong to Hafen," I sniggered.

"Go fuck yourself," Hafen growled, barely audible over Baker's hefty laughter.

"This guy's a real clown, Anthony," Baker commented, patting me on the back with more force than I would have appreciated.

Surprisingly enough, Walker's friendly disposition didn't seem to have been kicking in at the time. "Why would he have jizz all over his own clothes, Sarge?"

"I guess Walker doesn't know about the birds and bees," Baker chortled at me, his laughter cut short by the astonished look on Walker's face.

"I mean, does he masturbate over his clothes or something?"

Hafen stood and threw his magazine to the ground, before rambling on with a series of random profanity. "How fucking obvious can you be?"

"Keep it cool Private," Baker ordered.

"Sarge, how can you be fooled by this guy? Hell, even Johnson knows that this guy is full of shit," he bellowed, staring down at Walker as he resumed sorting out the clothes. "Look at him, pretending to work just to make himself look innocent. He's a fucking criminal, just like Clark!"

"Shut the fuck up, Private!" Baker retrieved the magazine and gripped the front pages, before tearing them out with praiseworthy force and moving onto the other ones. Hafen roared additional profanity as Baker vandalized the contents of the magazine, but made no physical attempt to stop him. "I won't stand here and let you compare a good soldier to a man like Richard Clark! No fucking way am I letting you do that to another man," he snarled, before throwing the remains of the paper onto the floor. "Go fetch a broom and clean that up."

"You're the one who tore it up," Hafen replied with noticeably less nerve than before.

"I don't give a shit. You've been staring at that thing all day." He pointed to the door, where a pair of soldiers had been gazing at them as they argued. "Now get moving!"

Hafen swallowed the last few lumps left from his sandwich and made his way out of the room, violently shoving the other men aside, before being followed by Baker.

Despite the unexpected outburst by Hafen, Walker merely shrugged and resumed working on the clothes, and had already managed to put away most of our shirts and jackets within a short amount of time. "Does he masturbate to his clothes, Corp?"

I ignored the ridiculous nickname and patted him on the back. "No, Anthony, that was a joke," I explained, concealing my amusement at his oblivious behavior with a sympathetic smile.

"Oh right," he nodded, before resuming with his work.

"Hafen was in a bit of a fight around a month ago and he's been really shaken up ever since. He ain't...usually like that," I said, silently cursing myself for standing up for him.

"Oh, it's alright, Corp. I understand."

I couldn't help but feel bad for ignoring him for the whole week. Despite Hafen's angry rant, Walker didn't lose face and remained as complacent as the first time he arrived there, a trait that pushed aside a bit of my initial prudence. "I never really got to have a conversation with you yet. Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?"

Walker nodded and finished folding the last pair of pants on the bed and neatly placed it in Baker's locker. "Alright then, Corp," he beamed, a light whistle emitting from the gap between his front teeth. He sat down on the bed and gazed at me, acting as if he had just turned up for an important job interview. "My name is Anthony Walker. I was born on the tenth of August in..." He paused, grimacing as he struggled to remember his full birth date.

"It's okay, I only want to hea-"

"No, no, no. I can get it. I won't let you down, sir." He paused again, growing increasingly frustrated as he attempted to recall the year he was born in. "What in tarnations was the damn year I was born in? It was in the forties. Charlotte was born in '42, a year before her daddy went to Asia and I..." He had started counting the years on his fingers, and I intervened right before he could try to remove his boots to refer to his toes.

"Anthony, listen to me. I just want to know about your personality and your interests. Not when you were born, or what damn star sign you are or whatever."

My reassurance seemed to calm him down, before he extended another ugly smile at me. "Alright then, sir." He folded his arms and went into an episode of deep thought, staring at the wall to seek inspiration. (This was something I tended to do as well, so I couldn't really criticize him for it.) "My name is Anthony Walker," he started off. "I'm from Oklahoma and I joined the army two years ago." He paused for a moment, before giving me another one of those dreadful smiles. "I like guns. I really, really, really like guns, Corp. I also like shooting things as well."

"That's nice," I grinned, trying to avoid gagging over the sight of his massive canines. "Reminds me of an old friend of mine." However, whether or not he was as careless as Fisher was an issue I had to investigate. "Go on."

"I like helping people. Especially the people of our great country." A trait that explained why he was so willing to carry both our laundry and lunch all at once and then immediately start putting them away without any assistance.

I nodded and paused to consider what to ask him next. "How long have you been in Hope?"

"About a year and a half right now. I think. It can be kind of boring here sometimes though," he chuckled.

"Why did you come here in the first place?"

"They said they'd give me a lot of money. A lot more than the guys fighting the commies are getting." Which was true for me as well. Only the insane or extremely desperate volunteered to work in Hope, so the government had to up their game with higher wages and free health care, but even that wasn't enough to attract much more than one hundred soldiers and a few hundred civilians. Unfortunately I fitted into both of those categories perfectly, so I applied without thinking about the repercussions. However, the shortage of personnel meant that less money from the taxpayers were going to be wasted on food and salaries, so it wasn't all that bad.

"I see. You have anyone here with you?"

He nodded and grinned again. "My highschool sweetheart Charlotte is here with me."

"Are you married?"

"Nope," he snorted, much to my chagrin.

"And her family was completely cool with her taking part in this project?"

He nodded, taking no notice of the point I was trying to make. "Well, yeah. Whatever is left of it. All she has now is her aunt and her cousin. Her daddy died fighting the Japs, and her mommy died of some weird disease when she was a kid."

I lowered my head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. It must have been awful for her."

He shrugged, failing to understand why I was apologizing. "She's cool being here. You don't have to be sorry for that."

"I see. You have any kids?" A question I was most reluctant to ask, but it never hurts to be certain.

"Nope," he replied cheerfully, to my unspoken relief. "And I don't want any right now."

"How do the scientists feel about that?"

"Well, they've asked us if we've done it," he mumbled, shrinking into his seat as the topic of sex came into the conversation. Contraception was forbidden in Hope, and anyone caught smuggling would get a month in the sewers, and I had yet to see anyone try to smuggle anything in. It was hell for some of the men on campus, but they were in no position to complain since it was one of the few items that the government was not willing to make an exception for. "We can't though," he moaned.

"I see. That must be pretty hard for you," I said lightly, gripping his shoulder. My wife was often starving for love whenever I got the chance to go home, so it wasn't an issue for me. However, as a man, I can understand that being forced to withhold your desires can be painful.

"It's alright," he sighed. "I just use an orange and some toothpaste. It's the closest you can get to the real thing," he giggled, revealing the most unnerving smile I had ever seen.

After a moment of some painfully harrowing imagery, I shook my head and proceeded with my questions. "What do you think of the REDLIGHT virus?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. I think it's kinda weird how they injected everyone in the town with it, and how they use babies for testing now, but the doctors say they need it to fight the commies," he explained. "If it helps America, then I'm cool with it." At that moment, my personal avidity to admit what had happened to Fisher reached its peak capacity. I could feel my fingers shake as I tried to resist the impulse to tell him how 'helpful' this virus really was. "You alright, Corp?"

"If only you knew, Anthony. If only you knew."

"Knew what?" His oblivious nature was beginning to irritate me at that moment.

"Nothing," I sighed angrily. I felt like ending the line of questioning at that point. He didn't seem to be a harmful individual, aside from his apparent desire for firearms and toothpaste filled oranges for uses that I don't even feel like reciting right now. However, there was still his very negative military record. Out of everyone in Hope, he has spent the most time in the sewers, and the multitude of convictions on his personal file was definitely a call for concern. "I've noticed that you've spent a lot of time down in the sewers."

Whilst the average man would have avoided answering such an inquiry out of sheer embarrassment, all he did was give me the same damn smile that he loved to show off. "Yeah, I did. Chalmers says that I've been down there the longest," he said, speaking in a tone suggesting that he was actually proud of spending such a long time in that excrement infested pit.

"Why did you end up spending so much time down there?" I deliberately evaded speaking directly about his convictions, hoping that he could provide some additional insight.

He opened his mouth, another whistle emitting from his teeth gap. "Because I took the blame for my friend, Richie," he stated.

"Corporal Richard Clark?"

"Yeah. That was the guy Hafen was talking about a minute ago."

So Walker was initially part of Sergeant Monroe's squad, and he took the hit for Clark's crimes. I guess having a hair trigger temper wasn't Clark's only problem. "So, the counts of theft, vandalism and harassment were actually his crimes?"

Walker nodded. "Yep. He'd usually get pretty pissed off at people, and then he'd go and do all sorts of stuff. Breaking chairs, stealing food, saying nasty things to our Sergeant. That sort of stuff."

"But you spent so damn long in those sewers, to the point that almost no one around here recognizes you. How often did he get you into trouble?" Although I already had a fair idea of what the frequency was.

"About once or twice a month," he said.

I couldn't believe it. I'd go ballistic if I had to cope with that kind of shit, but he just shrugged it off with another disgusting smile and giggle. "Why did you take the blame for him?"

"Because he asked me to," he shrugged. "I like helping people in need."

I grabbed him by the arm out of impulse more than anything else and pulled him towards me. "Are you kidding me? He wasn't in need, he was just too afraid to face his punishment like a man! Are you stupid or something?" I released him and tried to calm myself, before I continued in a much less critical manner. "Look. I know you like to 'help' people, but the sort of shit he was doing wasn't good shit, y'hear?"

He shrugged again. "I know that, but he was my friend."

"No, you can't be friends with those kind of people," I lectured, silently dreading the realization that I was starting to sound more and more like my wife. "Look, the difference is that you can't help people who do bad things. That includes assault, vandalism, harassment and of course, stealing."

He nodded and grinned, surprisingly delighted by my ranting and raving. "Alright then, Corp. No problem."

That was that. I was relieved at the discovery that Walker wasn't nearly as bad a person as we thought he was. He was just a very confused man, and even I'm being generous by just calling him confused. There were probably a dozen or so terms I could have used to describe his sheer lack of common sense, but I decided to leave that out.

"That's good to hear." I exhaled heavily. In spite of my satisfaction of Walker's redemption for his underwhelming display of intelligence, I was in the mood for a cup of warm tea, right until I decided to throw a little test in his direction. "I'm in dire need of a big cup of tea." I turned to him and smiled, which he returned with one at least three times the width of my mouth. "Any chance you could get me one?"

"No problem, Corp," he shouted, with as much enthusiasm as Baker whenever he managed to get his hands on some pork chops. He threw himself off the bed and sprinted out into the hallway, leaving behind only the echoes of his footsteps as he proceeded towards the mess hall. I rested my back on the bed and gazed up at the ceiling.

"He better not drop it on the way back."

* * *

><p><em>2802/66_

"So you don't know how to do a push up then?"

Walker gazed at me, bewildered by my suggestion that he perform a few push-ups to demonstrate his physical capabilities. "Well, I do," he muttered, with more whistling sounds coming from his teeth gap. "I just don't know how to do them properly."

I shook my head. Push-ups were an extremely basic form of physical exercise. They took some getting used to, that much was true, but they were easy to pick up compared to jogging or doing pull ups, which were exercises that required a lot more effort, and especially a lot more for him. "How can you not do them properly?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "Sergeant Monroe always said that I could never do them right or something. He just never explained how I did them wrong." Why a commanding officer would criticize one of his own men over such a basic exercise and yet not take the time to show him how to do it was really beyond me.

Sergeant Killian Allan and his subordinates leaned against the concrete wall, watching me teach my comrade in the oncoming sprinkles of rain. I looked up at the blankets of grey cloud that covered the entire area. "You might want to pick up the pace a bit, Johnson," he shouted. "You want any help?"

"No, I'm fine," I replied. I glanced down at the saturated dirt road we stood on and sighed heavily. "Show me how you do it, Anthony."

"Sure thing, Corp," he said. Walker crouched, taking no notice of the blotches of mud covering his trousers, before throwing his legs back and his arms forward. I observed the positioning of his body and shook my head.

"Keep your arms at shoulder length," I ordered, indicating the ridiculously long distance between his hands.

"Oh come on," Hafen moaned, trying to cover his head from the rain. "It's so fucking easy to do. The rain's starting to pick up."

"He needs to learn." I approached Walker and helped him position his legs. "Otherwise, it'll just look like he's having sex with the ground." Walker remained immobile, while his hands and feet were beginning to sink into the dirt as the oncoming rainstorm started to pick up its pace. "Alright, come on. Bend your arms until your nose touches the ground."

Walker nodded and proceeded to lower himself to the ground, dipping his prominent nose into the mud, presumably because he took my command a tad too literally, before pressing himself back up. "All done, Corp," he panted, turning his flushed face in my direction. "It's mighty difficult, Corp."

"Of course it is," I agreed, patting him on the back. "You just have to get used to it."

"He bent his legs." I looked up to find that Jason O' Mara had started running towards us, small sprinkles of rainwater bursting as they landed on his jacket. "He's not supposed to bend his legs," he affirmed, before dropping himself to the ground to demonstrate the correct technique.

"Alright then," I said, right as O' Mara finished his fifth repetition. "One more time, Walker."

Walker nodded and readjusted his legs. He then proceeded to bend his lanky arms, flexing what few muscles they harbored, before shoving himself back up with more difficulty than before. "All done, Corp," he huffed, before dropping himself to the ground in exhaustion.

"Sarge always says to keep practicing until you can do at least three sets of two reps," O' Mara advised. He looked down at Walker, whose jacket had been smothered in dirt. "He'll probably have to do a set or two a day until he improves."

"That's fine," I said. I waved at Allan. "Thanks for your help."

He waved back and called out to O' Mara, before they made their way inside.

"Right then," I continued. Walker scrambled to his feet, rubbing some mud from his reddened face. "I was going to get you started with some pull ups, but I'm afraid we're going to have to call it a day for now."

"Then come on. I'm fucking starving," Hafen moaned, right as he helped Walker up and started to make his way to the courtyard.

Walker remained behind and started scraping the mud from his jacket and trousers, his oblivious nature no doubt helping him ignore the drops of rain pelting down on his head. "Say, Corp?"

I turned, trying as hard as I could to resist nagging him out of the rain. "Yep?"

"How can you have sex with the ground?"

* * *

><p><em>0103/66_

Walker settled in with little to no incident. Our patrols with him were surprisingly tolerable, and his personal belief that doing our laundry and fetching our dinner for us was all for the good of mankind was really starting to pay off. Although, I often found myself nagging the living hell out of Hafen and Baker whenever they ordered him to do something just for the sake of their entertainment. Such incidents typically involved asking him to climb up onto the roof of the base and shout obscenities at nearby soldiers, or Baker's chilling attempt to get him to recreate Fisher's infamous friendly fire incident which had resulted in Hafen losing almost half of his left ass cheek the year prior. Regardless, I enjoyed his presence here, and I doubted that any criminal would have been able to spend an entire month doing our chores for us in a futile attempt to cover up his real identity. Thus, I had no reason to exercise further caution around him, aside from the frustration of having to explain every joke we made to him in ridiculously precise detail.

After our last gate patrol, we had decided to make our way to the base and treat ourselves to a nice, hot meal. While the variety of meals available were fairly lacking for a Tuesday, we were still happy to be out of the stormy weather and into a shabby, putrid military base that felt like paradise by comparison. As we started to tuck into our meals, whilst attempting to ignore the distinctive splutters from Baker as he gnawed on his pork, we started to discuss the whole issue of the newborns. Something I hadn't the chance to talk about since Hafen got thrown into the sewers.

"I never got the chance to ask this," I began. "What do you guys think of what we've learned about Hope's children?"

Allan and his squad, who had decided to join us for our meal, looked at me curiously as I made the inquiry. O' Mara cocked his eyebrow at me, completely unaware of the lumps of gravy dripping from his spoon onto his shirt. "We haven't much to say," he replied. "Other than we have absolutely no idea about what they're trying to learn from these kids."

Allan nodded. "Jason's right. We don't know the whole story with what they're doing to those poor kids, but what I do know is that what they seem to be looking for isn't what we've been told about before."

One of Allan's men, who I recalled to be Private Fletcher, leaned in on the conversation. "They've told the papers that this is a base for defending against the commies or something."

"But that's what I'm getting at," Allan interrupted. "How is fucking night vision supposed to keep us safe from nuclear bombs? I don't like shit talking people like this, but the government is really starting to annoy me with this whole newborn crap."

Walker reached his thin, elongated fingers up to my shoulder and beckoned me. "I think night vision would be kind of cool," he chuckled, much to the unspoken disgust of O' Mara and his fellow troops. "What? Did I do something wrong?"

"Anthony," Baker whispered softly and pointed to the brown patch on O' Mara's shirt, which the Private attempted to cover up upon realizing how noticeable his clumsiness was. "Why don't you fetch us a few napkins from the canteen?"

"Sure thing, Sarge," Walker shouted with the usual display of unnecessary enthusiasm, before jumping up and making his way to the crowd around the food stalls.

"Sorry, he's a bit slow in the head," Baker explained. "You were saying, Killian?"

"No harm done," he smiled. "I was just hoping that after all of the shit that the people here have gone through, that we would get a bit more from the research team. I mean, having to build this town and keep it staffed for the last year must have cost a pretty penny or two."

"It all seems a bit pointless. Nothing that important has really happened around here, aside from a few kids with some major growth spurts, but that has nothing to do with keeping our country safe," O' Mara added. Baker and I exchanged looks, indicating that we were both thinking of John Doe and his deceased wife, which was something that was definitely connected to the children. But I always managed to keep my mouth shut about it at the time.

"Maybe the scientists have more going on behind the scenes," Allan shrugged. "I just wish they weren't so fucking quiet about it."

"Well, it's better than the commies finding out and trying to steal what we've come up with." It was a sound point from Baker. With the Vietnam War going on at the time, tensions between both superpowers were at their highest peak in years, so incidents of espionage were all too likely. However, as you probably expect, my insatiable desire to learn more about REDLIGHT wasn't going to make me accept the secrecy of the project that easily.

"What do you think, Hafen?" A pointless question, but I figured that at least attempting to get him in on the conversation would make him familiar with Allan's squad, since they were the only group of men that we spent much time with.

"I've nothing to say," he grunted, acting as aloof as ever.

"There's no point in trying anymore," I said to Baker. "Hey, Walker's taking his time with those napkins."

"I know. I might go have a look for-"

Baker's response was cut short by an angry yell coming from the food stalls. We glanced at one another in confusion momentarily, before we surfaced from our seats to observe, and it wasn't long until Hafen and Allan's squad followed us.

"You fucking told them?" Corporal Clark looked up at his former squad mate, before reaching out to grab his baggy shirt. Walker remained standing, seemingly clueless as to what he had done to anger him.

"Yeah, I did. What's wrong with that?" Walker looked at the crowd of men that started to form around them, who were anticipating for a fight to start.

"I told you to keep your fucking mouth shut about it! You're the most gullible dipshit I've ever met," he roared, throwing Walker back towards us as we approached the scene.

"That's enough," Baker screamed. I ran to Walker and secured him from any further advances by Clark. "Where's your commanding officer?"

Clark remained quiet, his face growing blood red from his sudden surge of anger. He looked at Hafen and O' Mara as they arrived. Both Privates made a conscious effort to remain out of the line of sight, which forced a wicked smile onto Clark's face. "Good to see you again, Jason. How's that big head of yours doing?"

"We asked you a damn question," Allan yelled, forcing O' Mara out of the way. "Where the hell is Monroe?"

"I don't know," he shrugged impeccably, despite his earlier tantrum. "I just came here to get some lunch until that little prick turned up."

"And you think throwing him down like that is acceptable?" This was probably one of the few instances that Baker was willing to deal with the problem physically, so Allan had to hold him back as he confronted Clark.

"I don't care." Clark pointed at Hafen, who flinched as he laid his eyes upon him. "That fucker already got me another mark on my record. One more won't hurt."

Baker shook his head, looking even more irritated than before. "Get your food and go back to your bunkroom. Lord knows what I'll fucking do once I see Monroe," he threatened.

After exchanging another few dirty looks with O' Mara and Hafen, Clark made his way to the canteen, fetched a few sandwiches and strolled into the main hallway.

"Alright. Show's over people," Allan shouted, rounding up the nearby men. "Let's go. Pick up the pace, guys."

I helped Walker pick himself up from the floor, expressing a strong bout of relief when I confirmed that he was uninjured. "At least you're still alive. What the hell happened back there?"

"He asked me if I said anything about the bad stuff he did, Corp." It was a question that he probably answered without much hesitation. "Then he grabbed me and started yelling at me."

Baker walked up to us. "You alright, Private?"

"All good, sir," he smiled, unaffected by the conflict. At least it wasn't going to be long until he would forget about it all, which wasn't something I could say for Hafen and O' Mara. "You still want those napkins?"

"No, we're fine for now," Baker grinned, placing his hand over Walker's shoulder and leading him back to our table.

I looked back at Allan and his squad, who were busy telling off a few men who refused to return to their seats. I walked up to Hafen, who was stuck beside O' Mara as they rounded up the last of the men. "You alright, Hafen?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine," he stuttered, surprisingly neglecting his tendency to follow up with some predictable chorus of profanity.

"Still beat up over Clark?"

"No," he exclaimed, making a hilariously poor show of covering up his nervous behavior. "I don't give a flying fuck about him."

"Don't worry about it. I was the same when he was still in your squad," O' Mara added, recoiling at the recollection of his brawl with Clark.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Baker told me about that a while back. He said you got beat up pretty bad."

"Yeah, he did some damage." He looked down, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket. He looked at Hafen. "You'll get over him soon enough."

"Really? You seemed pretty insistent on avoiding him," I suggested.

Taking no offense from my comment, O' Mara merely shook his head. "Doesn't mean that I give a shit about him anymore. What's done is done, as Sarge would say."

"And besides, no one wants to be near that fucking freak," Hafen groaned, reverting back into the turbulent man that he had always been.

I decided to hold my questions for the moment, and we returned to our table to resume eating our food. I could feel the eyes of the other men lapsing onto us as we made our way across the room, which was a feeling that Hafen himself also shared, only that his response was a tad more obscene.

As I sat and resumed digging into my plate of pork and gravy, I started to summarize the most recent events in my mind. Here we were with a new adversary, made worse by the fact that we had his former dimwitted accomplice on our squad. I thought that having to deal with Higgins and his lies were enough of a problem at the time, but I had yet to see how much worse the whole situation was about to become.

* * *

><p><em>1503/66_

"It's been a hell of a fortnight, baby."

"How's that recruit of yours doing?" Gemma paused for a moment, following by the clanging of some metal in the background, suggesting that she was in the middle of making dinner. Since it had been over two weeks since I last heard her voice, I was somewhat let down by how making dinner took priority over her husband.

"Fine. He's been a great help," I murmured into the phone. "Settling in just fine."

"Is he any good at poker?"

"No," I sniggered. "I'm still the champ around here."

"Of course you are," she replied. Rarely have I ever heard Gemma speak to me in such a soft manner. It was a welcome break over her nagging marathons we had during almost all of our conversations. "Your uncle called over. He misses his gambling buddy."

"Tell him to sign up then. It's a goldmine over here." I wiped a trail of rainwater dripping down from my fringe. Hope's weather had been a nightmare for patrol squads in the town over the last two weeks. The rainstorms had been getting worse with each passing day, so I was lucky that the bad weather eased up when I approached the town, otherwise I would have passed out on my way down there.

"Tyler got into another fight last week," she said, loading something else into the oven.

Great. Even my own damn kids were getting involved in fracas. I was getting sick to death of these brawls. Another quarrel broke out the day before between two Privates over comparing the quality of their bowls. It was brief, and nothing beyond a few kicks and shoves occurred, but it made living in Hope much harder than it already was at the time. "Send him to bed without any dinner. Maybe give him a hiding or two. That should put him out of business," I suggested.

"Right," Gemma replied, and if she had any doubt in what I was saying, she was doing a pretty good job covering it up. "I'll do what I can." She finished loading up whatever delicacy she was stuffing into the oven, before she returned to phone. "When are you due home?"

"I don't know. I still have to get my hands on my new timetable, so I might not find out for a while." Williams was being as indecisive as always, so we were subject to more timetable modifications. I found myself constantly praying that our squad wasn't going to be getting another night shift, but I wasn't going to find out until a week later, only for another change to be made the week after.

"Alright then," she sighed. "I have to get dinner for the boys. I'll talk to you soon."

"Alright then, baby."

We passed on our farewells and good wishes, before I killed the line and placed the phone back on its holder. I rubbed my eyes and stepped out of the booth, trying to ease myself from the exasperating thoughts of our new timetables. "I'm not paid enough to deal with this shit."

"Get the fuck away from me!" The cry of despair came from the booth next to mine. I wandered outside and looked into it, before my instinct kicked in at the right time and allowed me to narrowly dodge Hafen as he was thrown away from the phone booth. Corporal Clark remained inside, his face as blood red as ever, before he screamed some embarrassingly generic insults into the phone and hung up.

I ran to help Hafen up, who had been thrown almost halfway across the room. "Are you alright?"

Hafen raised his hands and pushed me away from him, before he hoisted himself up and charged at Clark, approaching him at great speed. "Get the fuck away from my Daisy!"

Right as Clark started inputting a series of numbers into the phone, which I later found out to be the telephone number of his father, he dropped it and landed a punch right into Hafen's groin. Yelling in pain, Hafen jerked backwards, clenching his stomach to lessen the impact it had on his digestive system. He gagged for a moment, before keeling over and lying still on the ground, gripping his stomach even tighter than before.

"What the hell is your problem? He was in the middle of a damn call," I shouted. I was never one for defending Hafen's honor, since I usually preferred to diminish it myself, but seeing another brawl initiate did nothing to lighten the weight that was already on my mind.

Clark stuck his head out of the booth, which presented a staggering contrast between it and the rest of his relatively short body. "You want to be next, asshole?"

"Maybe I do," I retorted sternly, stepping towards him. "Then we can see what Chalmers has to say once he sees the security footage." I gestured to the surveillance camera tucked away in the corner of the room.

Clark glanced at the device, appearing slightly confused for a moment. "That stuff ain't worth shit." He emerged from the booth and walked towards me, before reaching out his stubby hands and grabbing me by my collar. He held me with commendable strength, while I could feel his fingers tightening on my jacket.

I put on a brave look, hoping that I managed to cover up my panic-stricken reaction as effectively as I thought I had. "Really? I hear nowadays they can record what those cameras see on some kind of tape." I forced an uneasy smile as his face started to vibrate with rage. "And I hear the quality is pretty good too. That wouldn't look too good for you, since you don't have Walker around anymore."

Clark gazed back at me, his eyes widening as he struggled to control his torrid state of mind. He loosened his grip and tossed me behind him, forcing me over Hafen's hunched body. My head collided with the dusty wooden floor, and as I attempted to adapt to the pain of the sudden injury, I could feel my consciousness slowly start to slip out of my control. I lifted my head up, trying to see through the blurs and colors floating around my field of view. I could barely make out Clark as he stepped over us and jogged to the door, probably hoping that he could flee before we were found by Baker.

Despite not taking his injury too well, Hafen rose from the ground while maintaining his hold on his stomach. "You alright, Peter?"

I blinked and nodded, before I eventually regained the strength necessary to sit up. I pulled myself up from the floor, slightly disgruntled by Hafen's lack of decency. "I'm alright. I just hit my head pretty hard, no need to help me up or anything," I said sarcastically.

"Go fuck yourself. I'm fucking hurting here," Hafen grunted, overriding any sympathy he was willing to express.

The door behind him opened, revealing Baker and Walker. "You guys finished yet?" Baker stopped as he observed the scene, his jaw dropping in shock as he identified the mess Hafen's phone booth had been left in, before he looked at me. "The fuck happened?"

I blinked again and tried to maintain my balance, but with little success. "I got into a bit of trouble."

Hafen stepped forward and pouted. "What about me? I got attacked as well."

Baker observed Hafen's injury and blew him off. "Tsk. You'll live. It's Peter that I'm worried about." He walked towards me and grabbed me by the arm. "You look like you're going to pass out. Anthony, give me a hand here."

Walker nodded and smiled, ignorant of the severity of the situation but willing to follow orders as always, as he approached me and supported me by the other arm. With their aid, I managed to skulk my way back into the front room, before they brought me and laid me down on one of the town hall's benches.

Baker ran up to the receptionist and exchanged a few words with her, and he returned with a glass of water in his hand. "Tell me what happened," he said.

I wrapped my fingers around the ice cold glass. The cool sensation that enveloped my hands eventually swept through my entire body as I took a sip from it. It did a fine job of waking me up a bit, despite the nagging pain at the back of my head that continued to discomfort me. "I was just finishing up on the phone, when Clark came around and tossed Hafen out of his booth."

"Richie was here?" Baker looked at Walker, who was unsure of what Baker was glancing at him for.

"You didn't see him, Sarge? He came in almost five minutes ago," Walker stated, revealing the same innocent, yet horrible smile.

"I was chatting with the receptionist. That's probably how I missed him." I couldn't blame him for it either. The receptionist was a strikingly attractive woman, and her long black hair combined with her ocean blue eyes caught the eyes of many officers who passed by the town hall.

"He wanted to use the phone booth. I guess he didn't see the other five unoccupied ones that were right beside it," I snorted, taking another sip from my glass.

"He probably just looked for an excuse to attack me again," Hafen suggested, after he finally ceased caressing his exaggerated wound.

Baker shook his head in disapproval. "Richie won't be getting away with this. I can promise you that."

"Ah, gentlemen." I glanced at the entrance of the building, squinting in pain as the movement of my head added to the throbbing pain, before I blinked in order to identify the individual walking towards us.

"Professor Higgins," Baker saluted, confirming him for me. Higgins was wearing a fancy sleeveless jacket, with a snow white shirt underneath. The lab coat that made it easy to identify him in a crowd was absent, indicating that he wasn't in the middle of work at the time.

"Ah, Sergeant Baker. How very nice to see you." Higgins looked at me, appearing slightly uncomfortable with my presence, before he observed me in greater detail. "Are you alright, Private?"

"I'm a fucking Corporal," I snapped. "And no, I'm not alright." I gulped down what was left of my water, before I called out to Walker. "Would you mind getting me another glass of water, Anthony?"

Walker grinned and fetched the glass from me, before sprinting towards the reception. I could see the receptionist wincing as he opened his mouth, exposing his horribly displaced teeth, before she politely accepted the glass and walked out to the back room.

"Well, I won't look for any further details. I'll just leave you to go about with...whatever it is you're doing," Higgins stammered. He was about to turn to leave before I called out to him.

"I'm sorry to delay you, sir, but when is the next conference meeting?" Baker gave me a very strong stare as I questioned Higgins, suggesting that he knew bloody well that I was about to embark on an information spree.

"Well then, Corporal," he began, deciding to take better care with stating my rank. "I'm not too sure at the moment. It's usually the Lieutenant Colonel who determines when we should have a meeting, and he informs me of an upcoming meeting at least a few weeks in advance. That way, we can decide what information we can share with the public." He started cleaning his glasses with a cloth he had in his pocket. "I haven't spoken to the Lieutenant Colonel for a few weeks now, so I assume we won't be having one for a while."

"That's a shame," Baker added. He glanced at his wrist watch, before grabbing Hafen and I and pulling us off the bench. "Anyways, it's getting late and we have a gate patrol in a few hours. You'll have to excuse us, Professor."

"Of course. No problem," Higgins said in a very relieved tone, but I wasn't willing to let him go that easily.

I pulled away Baker's hand and moved away from him. "It is a shame that we can't hear more about these newborns," I quipped, crossing my arms and maintaining a very serious look at Higgins. "Specifically, maybe something more interesting than a few growth spurts and how a kid can see in the dark."

Baker tugged at the hem of my jacket. "Come on, that's enough."

I ignored his warning and proceeded to harass Higgins. I had no intention of letting the wrinkly bastard get away scot free. "Or maybe how this damn virus messes with people's heads."

"I haven't the faintest clue about what you're talking about," he gulped, pausing to think of something intelligible to respond with. "I haven't. No. Wait...I..."

"How a good friend of mine lost the career that kept him sane," I continued. I refused to give him a chance to respond. He needed to realize the full extent of the impact his work was having on the people in this town. "Or how an innocent man got his head split open by the men that were supposed to be protecting him." I could feel my fingers shake in anger as he continued to gawk at me, even to the point that the dizziness that plagued me for the last few minutes was nothing more than a mild inconvenience at that point. "Or how a virus had driven that same man to murder his own wife?"

"I said that's enough!" Baker grabbed my sleeve and tried to pull me towards the entrance. "Hafen. Outside, now." It was an order that Hafen followed without question, taking no interest in what I was babbling on about, but I had no intention of stopping my little speech. I wriggled my way out of his grasp and inched away from him.

Higgins raised his eyebrows, intrigued by my determination to confront him, but he was still acting as timid as ever. "Please, Corporal Johnson. We can't have progress without taking some risks," Higgins stated, hoping that some feeble attempt at a philosophy lesson would calm me.

"Have you taken any risks, Professor?" I strolled closer to him, but my path was impeded by Baker's gigantic arms, before he dragged me back towards him. "Anything besides that big scar on your back?"

"I gave you an order, Corporal," Baker roared, taking his aggression to its fullest extent. He wrapped his arm around my neck and forced me into submission.

With my neck restrained, I found it difficult to resist any further. I could feel my heart sink as Higgins became nothing more than a blurry silhouette once Baker had managed to pull me out of the building. "Walker, shut the door," Baker ordered, right as the bewildered Private emerged from the building with the glass of water I had requested. Despite his absence, he made no attempt to question Baker and proceeded to shut the double wooden doors of the town hall, before he sprinted towards me with the glass.

"Your water, Corp," he grinned, holding out the glass excitedly, subconsciously spilling a few drops on my jacket.

"Get the fuck away from me!" I raised my hand and knocked the glass out of his hand, backing away slightly as it collided with the ground and smashed, sending small pieces of glass flying all over the pavement. "All of you, get away from me!"

Despite his display of hostility a few minutes prior, Baker stood his ground. He bit his lower lip and kept his eyes on me as I continued to yell at my squad mates.

"I've had enough of this fucking town," I yelled, kicking a lump of glass towards Hafen, which he avoided by mere millimeters. "I've had it with this damn virus. This damn army. This damn fucking country!" I struggled to sedate my gradually increasing anger, but I must confess that trying to calm myself only served to make things worse. Images of Fisher flashed through my mind. Vivid recollections of his crime at the hospital tampered with my mentality, leaving a painfully strong sensation that left my head pounding even more than it already was. "How long is it going to be before those fuckers realize what they're doing to the people here?"

"How long is it going to be before you realize that you're killing our only chance at going home?" I gazed at Baker as he spoke, slowly breaking down as I deduced the point he was calmly trying to make.

"Fuck," I groaned. My initial burst of rage morphed into an overwhelming sense of regret. I inadvertently mentioned the desecrated wife of John Doe. The photo Baker had shown me was not supposed to have been leaked, hence why even he was hesitant to show it to me at first. Understanding that Higgins was aware of my risky knowledge of the scenes behind the research, I figured that I had pretty much shot down the only opportunity I had to see my family. Of course, the same thing went for Baker. "What was I thinking?"

"I don't know," Baker replied, acting surprisingly calm in spite of my absurd display of intelligence. "But now there's no point getting worked up over it. There's nothing we can do now." He rolled down his sleeves and pointed at Hafen. "Come on, let's go." He looked back at Walker and I. "You two stay here and clean up that little mess you made, and then come back to the base when you decide to calm down." Visibly content with the idea of going home after all the ruckus we just got involved in, Hafen ran to Baker's side and accompanied him back to the base. I remained behind, staring at them as they walked off, until their outlines faded into the yellow mist surrounding the nearby buildings, being overlooked by the setting sun.

"You okay, Corp?" Walker rubbed my back and offered some comforting words, ignoring the fact that I was almost on the verge of assaulting him just a few minutes prior. "You look pretty shaken up."

"I'm fine." I crouched down and proceeded to gather up some of the glass, flinching as one of the stray pieces pierced the skin of my thumb. "We'll probably need a brush. Could you fetch one?"

Walker nodded and smiled without uttering another word, before sprinting back inside to fetch whatever cleaning equipment he could salvage. I glared at the setting sun, admiring the beams of light protruding from the gaps between the buildings across the plaza. I closed my eyes, trying to push away the thoughts that continued to compel what little sense I still possessed, but to no avail.

"I need to see him again."


	10. CONFLICT

**CONFLICT**

* * *

><p><em>1903/66**  
><strong>_

Walker and I remained at the back of the shower room, scrubbing several lumps of dried dirt and mud off the tiles. Walker, likely having done this on multiple occasions for his previous squad, was washing out the dirt with minimal effort. It wasn't so simple for me, since I was usually the one who mopped the floor in the showers before Williams arrived for his inspection, but Baker insisted that Hafen take my place for that day._  
><em>

I slapped my sponge onto the smooth, ceramic surface, before I applied as much pressure as I could. Slight pockets of dirt started to fly off the wall, only to be mopped away by an extremely disgruntled Hafen. Walker continued to rub his sponge onto the wall, cleaning away the scattered splatters of dirt with ease.

Tired and irritated by his task, Hafen approached Walker and tipped his shoulder with the mop. "Any chance you could take over for me, Anthony?"

"Nope," Walker replied, unmoved by Hafen's opprobrious muttering. "I can't."

"Come on, for god's sake. This is a pain in the ass. Besides, you're a criminal. You love this kind of shit."

"I told him not to, since I knew you were going to ask," I intervened, scowling at the trails of brown water left behind him. "You call that a mopping? Put some back into it, Private."

"Fucking prick," he whispered to himself, followed by some additional profanity that I didn't take the time to listen to. He walked back to the center of the room and continued to clean away a few more scraps of mud.

"Hard to believe we let it get this bad. It's worse than usual," I commented, applying some additional pressure on a streak of grass and mud that simply wouldn't come off at all. "Son of a bitch, this is tough work."

"You want some help, Corp?" Walker approached me with his trademark smile, one that wasn't quite as sickening as usual ever since he started maintaining some dental hygiene, but it was still quite a sight regardless.

"Yeah, sure," I said to him, avoiding eye contact with Hafen when he glanced in my direction right as Walker took over for me. I looked at Baker, who was conversing with another Sergeant at the doorway.

He turned towards us and clapped his hands. "Williams is outside! Pick up the pace, fellas!" He rolled his eyes at Hafen and took the mop from him, demonstrating how a proper cleaning should have been done, washing away the remains of the dirt effortlessly. "Use more water, Private. For god's sake, do you clean like this back at home? Your girlfriend must fucking hate you."

"All done," Walker yelled, much to my astonishment. He managed to polish away all specks of taint on the tiles within less than two minutes, which was something that would have taken an old crone like me over thirty minutes to do, and probably not nearly as efficiently at the same time. He strolled over to Baker, dragging his baggy combats across the wet floor.

"Well done, Anthony," Baker approved, patting his subordinate on the back. "A job well done, as always." They walked outside, ignoring the comparatively sleazy yet tough work that Hafen and I put in.

All of the squads on the premises gathered around the entrance right as Chalmers finished distracting Williams with some jargon with regards to our patrols, as well as eerily mentioning some upcoming modifications of our timetables, before the pair of them marched inside. We stood by the door and saluted as he entered, which was a practice that Williams demanded in order for him to maintain an image of authority over us, although we would usually shrug it off with some jokes about his middle name and his weight afterwards.

"I have to admit, Sergeant Major, that you and your men do a fantastic job of keeping this place up to scratch," Williams added, followed by indifferent change of tone. His eyes squinted. "Although, the smell isn't exactly what I was expecting."

"Is that so?" Chalmers exchanged a nasty look with a pair of Privates near the end of our row, who had presumably been tasked with the air fresheners that day, but had forgotten to carry out their task. "I'll see to it that something is done about the aromas around here, sir," he said, faking a smile.

Williams managed to slip in a rotten look at me when he walked by our squad. Maintaining my salute, and avoiding the impulse to strike his bloated face, wasn't a particularly simple task. "Margaret," I mumbled softly, followed by a chorus of mild tittering by a few nearby soldiers.

"That's enough," Chalmers growled at us, clearly trying to show off his aggressive leadership abilities in front of Williams. He turned and resumed walking towards the mess hall. Williams followed, his beer belly shaking as he moved his chunky legs.

A sergeant opposite us turned to one of his men. "Gerald, did you get those countertops cleaned?" To his relief, and that of most of the other men, the soldier nodded in response. We eventually broke away from the entrance, while a few lingered behind to provide some live commentary as Williams observed the canteen and the food stalls in the other room. Our squad, on the other hand, were completely satisfied with returning to our quarters for the afternoon. I didn't want to see another damn sponge for the rest of the day.

We made our way towards our bunkroom, dodging the dozen or so men that came our way, until one of the men forced us to delay our little trip. Paying no attention to the squads that passed by us, I walked on without registering the presence of one individual in particular, at least not until Walker decided to open his mouth.

"Hi Richie," Walker said politely. I turned my head to face the crowd to our left, which turned out to be Sergeant Monroe's squad. After identifying the commanding officer, I diverted my eyes to his left, feeling my bowels tingle as I laid my eyes down upon Clark. "How are you doing?"

Clark, surprisingly enough, had his bloodshot eyes locked onto me rather than Hafen. It was then that it hit me. I threatened to add another blemish to Clark's record, which was something I had never actually done, but it was clear that he didn't take my words too well. A diplomatic approach would have been fruitless, and it was just as well that I had come to that conclusion, since it wasn't long before Clark was charging at me.

The corridors of the base weren't very wide, so I didn't have much time to dodge. I lurched myself to the left as he threw himself towards me, forcing me to tumble over Hafen, who was equally as terrified as I was when we encountered him. Clark collided with Walker, knocking him to the ground with a sharp thump. Walker remained immobile when he landed, no doubt held down by the relatively heavy weight of the little man that had just charged into him. Even more angered than before, Clark scrambled to his feet promptly and jumped for me, swinging his fists at my face while I attempted to shield myself. As I raised my hands to deflect his punches, I threw my left leg out and struck him in the shin. Clark fell and roared in pain, stalling his attack to tend to the wound on his leg, while I used the opportunity to stand up.

"That's enough!" Baker stepped forward and grabbed Clark by his collar and hoisted him up, who was still moaning from the injury he sustained. He continued to glower at me as I helped up Hafen, biting down on his lower lip to control whatever anger he could. "I've had enough of your bullshit," Baker barked, throwing him against the concrete wall. Clark tumbled to the ground once again, before he decided to give up whatever fight he had left in him and resumed nursing his leg.

"Get your hands off him," Sergeant Monroe bellowed, pushing Baker back with all the strength he could muster, but only managed to move the towering behemoth back a mere couple of centimeters. "He's my Corporal and he's my responsibility! Back the fuck off!" Monroe's other squad mates backed up against the wall, having no intention of getting involved.

Baker remained silent, yet unnervingly calm, staring at Monroe as he raised his fists. "Responsibility? I had more control over him when he was with me," Baker stated, before he grabbed Monroe's arm and grappled it, forcing him down to his knees. Monroe attempted to break free, before Baker tightened his grip on his arm, causing the veins in the restrained limb to pop out. It wasn't long before he ceded.

"Alright, I give in! Just let me fucking go," Monroe whined, much to the embarassment of his surbordinates, who had started to edge away from the line of sight of the other men. I couldn't blame them to be honest. Seeing your CO get his ass handed to him so quickly couldn't have been something to brag about, especially when the other squads in the hall looked on in shock and disgust.

A man of my height stepped forward from the crowd of men observing the conflict, bearing the insignia of a sergeant on his uniform. "Do you want me to call Chalmers?"

Baker looked back at me while I was busy trying to keep Hafen calm. The curious look in his eyes indicated that he was seeking my opinion, causing me to pause for a moment. Getting Monroe and Clark thrown in the sewers would have really brightened up my day. However, Williams' presence would have created complications, which would have forced the overweight bastard to stay for longer than he needed to, but this was something that Baker clearly wasn't considering. I shook my head and mouthed Williams' name, and it didn't take long for Baker to acknowledge the point I was trying to discreetly make.

"Don't worry about it, Sergeant," Baker responded with a faint smile. "Just escort Monroe and his squad back to their quarters."

The sergeant nodded and called out to his men, who proceeded to surround Clark and Monroe. The other men in Monroe's squad eventually joined up with their commander and strolled back to their quarters in shame, but not before Clark managed to twist his reddened head back in our direction. His furrowed eyebrows didn't do much to put us at ease, and it was clear that my retaliation wouldn't have done me any good if Baker didn't intervene when he did.

"You guys alright?" Baker approached us, rubbing his bare right forearm. "He hurt you?"

"Peter fucking did anyway," Hafen groaned, shoving me away from him as I tried to hold him back. "That fucking hurt, you asshole!"

"Alright, that's enough," Baker said, separating Hafen from me. "At least no one was badly injured." He glanced at his wristwatch, scratching the outline left by Monroe's fingers. "Let's head back to the bunkroom."

"You okay, Corp?" Walker approached me as Baker and Hafen made their way through the hallway. "He nearly got you there," he grinned, emotionally unaffected by the conflict.

I rubbed my forehead, flinching at the pain as my fingers caressed the spot Clark had managed to hit when he grounded me. "Anthony, could you do me favor?"

Walker looked on at me in confusion, but managed a cheerful nod regardless. "Sure thing, Corp."

I looked at him and frowned. "Would you mind keeping your mouth closed from now on?"

* * *

><p><em>2503/66_

"I wonder if they realize that shit is bad for them," I coughed, continuing to splutter as another wave of stale smoke enveloped the area. We were waiting outside the convenience store while Walker went inside to fetch us something to eat, since standing by in the town for the entire day left us fairly hungry, thanks to yet another timetable modification.

"Assuming they're old enough to be smoking them," Baker added, oddly not at all bothered by the stench. I took another good look at the two men beside us, who were puffing away at their cigarettes, right before the one on the right reached into his pocket to fetch more. "Hey, go smoke that shit somewhere else!"

I couldn't tell what they were most intimidated by, be it Baker's physique, or the gleaming M16 that he had Walker clean earlier that day. Either way, the two young fellows scampered away from us without any pause for thought. "Thank fuck," I gasped, glancing at the rapidly evaporating trails of smoke in the air. I turned my eyes towards the glass window we were resting against, strugging to make out Walker among the several stalls of food inside the store. "He's taking his bloody time," I remarked, fumbling my fingers on the thin window frame.

"Here he comes," Baker added, visibly joyful over the concept of being fed. I diverted my eyes towards the left side of the room, grinning at Walker as he surfaced from one of the stalls, before I immediately turned away as he attempted to return the favor with an unnaturally broad smile.

"Here's some fresh fruit," Walker said. He handed Baker the brown paper bag he was carrying, before he proceeded to shuffle through the contents.

"Fruit?" Hafen approached us, having finally decided to come out of the alley he had spent the last ten minutes fidgeting around in. "Sarge asked for sandwiches, not fucking fruit."

"That's right," Baker sighed. He gripped one of the dark red apples resting in the bag and lifted it out. He shot a disgruntled look at me, singling me out over the other men. "Let me guess..."

"We need to start eating healthier," I said, much to the chagrin of my fellow troopers, with the notable exception of Walker who had remained as obedient as ever. "We eat far too much gloop nowadays." Not that I took much time to eat any of the aformentioned gloop that we were fed at the base. I only ate breakfast at the base on a daily basis, and I usually preferred to fix up my own meals. I would most definitely eat the canteen food on the occasion that something edible was served, but I typically preferred my own culinary skills over the generic, dry lumps of chicken and potatoes that we were fed almost every day.

"Is this all because of Clark?" Baker shook his head at me as I confirmed his suggestion. "Eating fruit won't make you any stronger or faster." Although the health section in the local newspaper suggested otherwise.

"It might stop the fucking diarrhea," Hafen grumbled, a remark that would have been one of the few genuinely hilarious things he had ever said, had it not been for the serious tone he sported every time he spoke. He turned to us and frowned. "Do we have to talk about Clark? Right now? He's the only thing we've been bitching about over the last week."

Baker, for once, agreed with him. "I've had enough of hearing about him." He tightened his grip on the apple, before raising it to his mouth and tearing a lump out of it with his canines. "I've also had enough of eating sandwiches all day. So this will have to do." He opened the bag and handed us our lunch, which we decided to tuck into during our trek back to the base. Just as well that we did, since I doubted any of the nearby civilians would have liked to experience Baker's harrowing table manners for themselves.

"You didn't say anything to them about John Doe, did you?"

Baker kicked a lump of dirt off the road as he paused to listen to my question. "No. The passive bastards didn't even ask me about it," he chortled.

"Right. Well, be sure to keep mum about it," I suggested. "I'm sure you're aware of how generous you can be with information like that."

"You can be loud enough yourself," he replied, losing the sense of humor he initially displayed. Granted, it was my sheer display of carelessness that had almost cost us our next plane home, but even that paled in comparison to how simple it was to get important knowledge out of Baker. "I also expect you to keep quiet about it from now on."

"Of course," I muttered, trying to ignore the guilt that continued to creep through my mind. "It won't happen again." I looked back at Hafen and Walker, who trailed behind us by a few metres, but they clearly weren't paying any attention to what we were saying. Hafen, as you'd expect, was looking away from Walker, gazing at the forest surrounding the town. Anthony on the other hand held his rifle with a display of pride that reminded me of Fisher whenever he got the opportunity to shoot his weapon, minus the bouts of guilt he experienced whenever he shot a friendly. I nodded my head at him. "He's as care free as ever."

"If we had an army of men like him, we'd have taken Vietnam the moment we walked in there," Baker joked. Walker was far more careful with his guns than Fisher was, always taking regular breaks to ensure that they were in an acceptable condition, becoming cranky whenever he found any traces of dirt or scratches on them. He always had a broad grin slapped onto his face whenever we went out on our patrols, and I always easily detected the strong sense of disappointment he felt whenever we had to leave our guns back in their respective lockers.

We sat at one of the tables in the mess hall, enjoying what was left of our fruit. Hafen and I exchanged the occasional glance with Sergeant Monroe at the other end of the hall. Clark sat next to him, supposedly unaware of our presence in the room, since I doubted that he would have had the mental capacity necessary to ignore us without losing his mind. "Fucking asshole," Hafen muttered, looking right at Clark. "Wouldn't mind getting a kick at him myself."

"I did that because I had to," I warned him. "It doesn't mean that you can do it for the hell of it." I threw the chewed up remains of my apple into the paper bag resting on the table, before Walker grinned at me and grabbed the bag.

"I'll put this away," he said, before sprinting to the canteen.

I leaned in on the table and lowered my voice. "Just before he comes back, I just want to say this to you guys." Baker looked at me, pulling his index finger for some strange reason. Hafen remained tucked away in his seat, but I could tell that he was listening.

"Go ahead," Baker smiled.

"I'm only saying this behind Anthony's back because..." I paused for a moment to come up with a simple way of describing my feelings. "... I don't think he needs to know about what happened last year."

Hafen rolled his eyes and looked away. "More shit about Fisher?"

"Just listen to me for a minute," I snapped, before lowering my voice once I realized how loud I was speaking. "I've just been thinking that we should try to get in contact with him."

"You've tried that numerous times," Baker scoffed. "You run up to his home, and eventually back out at the last moment." He leaned forward and folded his rock hard arms on the table. "What makes you think that it'll be any different this time?"

"At least I care enough to try, sir." The fumbled look on his face indicated how he felt about that.

"We have too important a job to be worrying about Fisher all the time." He picked at his orange goatee, which had started to grow over the bottom of his chin at that point.

"So having one conversation with our old colleague is too much to ask?" Baker lowered his hand and rested it on his elbow, considering what I had said. I turned to Hafen. "Mark. You and Fisher were good buddies. Usually." Mainly when he got his hands on the next issue of Playboy. Other than that, Fisher was just as prone to irritating Hafen as we were. "Don't you want to see him?"

"I do," he amazingly admitted. He spoke in the same bland tone that he was known for, but his honesty was still commendable. He fiddled with the sleeves of his shirt and bit his lip. "But what are we supposed to say to him? 'Hey buddy. Sorry we spied on your wife and took your kid for research. Can we be friends again?'" He rolled his eyes and looked away.

"Right." As offensive as his sarcasm was, he did raise a solid point. One that even Baker was willing to add to.

"You saw how he reacted, Johnson. He was ready to rip your throat out." He nodded his head at Monroe behind him, revealing a few stray gray hairs dangling from his fringe. "We have enough shit to deal with, other than pissing off Fisher again."

Fisher's thin, blood red face flashed through my mind. I remembered the grip he had on me as he confronted me at the field hospital all those months ago, and it wasn't something that I was very grateful to think about. Hell, he even threw a fit in front of Baker, something that only the very brave or mentally impaired would have even dared to do. It was something that caused me to grit my teeth, since the transition from a clumsy and easygoing man to a psyhcopathic, violent beast was too much to take in all at once. I blinked my eyes and shook my head. "So you don't care then?"

"Of course we fucking care. We just have to take things at face value," he stated, prodding his finger on the table. "And those things are that we have a village and research site to protect. It's what we were brought here to do. We'll deal with Fisher when we get the chance."

I bowed my head. "Or in your case, until we're ordered to."

Baker sighed slowly and heavily, before throwing himself further back into his seat. "I give up."

"So do I," I mumbled to myself.

We departed for our quarters as soon as Walker returned, and we kept our promise to keep mum about it. Walker knew about Fisher and all of the things he had in common with him, but we dared not tell him about what happened back in August. Not that Walker would have thought anything of it, considering his phlegmatic nature, but the last thing we needed was other men finding out about it. Even if we told him to keep his mouth shut, all it would have taken was a bit of nudging by Monroe or Clark and he would have spilled the beans without hesitation.

* * *

><p><em>1404/66_

I could feel the sweat trickling down my forehead as I approached the corner I swerved by all those months ago, before screeching back with a badly bloodied woman adjacent to me. This was not the first time I attempted to approach my old friend's home. I retraced my footsteps at almost every patrol we had in the town, before my stomach dropped to the lowest part of me once the badly maintained red brick home came into my field of view, forcing me to hold on to my rifle as tightly as possible and rapidly flee in the opposite direction. I also made some additional attempts during my free time, when I wasn't resting or looking for something to eat, but they ended up with more or less the same outcome.

"Fuck this," I moaned to myself as I forced myself forwards. I peered around the aforementioned corner, my hands trembling and my breathing gaining pace. The house was easy to identify over the dozens of others in the area, and I spotted the old timer who I met whilst trying to get Anne out of the house when she was due to drop the kid. He was sitting on a wooden chair, observing his front lawn, and I could feel my eyes roll at the recollection of the man's nosy behavior back then. Little did I know that at the time, I was probably worse.

I shook my head, refusing to bring myself any further. On a few occasions I managed to walk to his front gate, before the inevitable bouts of nausea caused me to sprint out of the vicinity. "You can do this, Peter," I thought. "You can do this." I was never one for reassuring myself, usually preferring to have others do it for me, but my attempts to calm myself seemed to have worked to an extent. I brought myself around the corner, and slowly crossed the road to approach his home. Just another twenty or so metres was all that stood between me and my old comrade. I swallowed my doubts and moved on a little faster.

Then the impossible happened, something that never occurred during the thirty to forty times I tried to reconcile with Eddie. The front door opened slowly, and a short, shoddily dressed woman walked out. My heart stopped, my breath stilled and my eyes widened. Without even thinking, I turned and ran as fast as my legs could allow me to. I jerked myself around the corner, almost tripping over the fencing of a nearby home, before hiding behind the oak tree overlooking the pavement.

My heart was racing, almost to the point of where I considered that cardiac arrest was a possibility at that time, so I tried to maintain a series of deep breaths. I looked around the tree, identifying the woman who nearly caused my bladder to explode in terror. It was, without a shadow of a doubt, Anne Fisher. She was fairly plump, although not to the point of where she was obese. She had a perfectly round face, covered with short brown hair, while the slight layers of fat on her triceps jiggled as she carried a basket filled with clothes. Amazingly enough, she didn't seem to have acknowledged my presence, despite that I was sure that I had made a fair ruckus while I was making a run for it.

I rubbed the sweat from my brow, peeling away some dry skin in the process, before I realized something. I reached my hand around my jacket, losing all sense of reality once I noted the absence of the sling I used to hold my weapon for me. I glanced at the pavement outside her front gate, my hands trembling as my eyes gazed upon it. "I dropped my fucking gun." I cursed myself for forgetting to keep the sling on me. Keeping tabs on your gun at all times was one of the most important regulations that were forced upon us in Hope. We had treat the things like they were our young. Breaking or losing one, without a damn good reason to follow it up with, warranted several weeks in the can and even more in the sewers. Getting shot for smuggling information or conspiring against the research personnel was something that rarely crossed my mind, but I could feel my face becoming saturated with sweat when the fact that I had left my damn weapon in the middle of a street dawned on me. Weeks in solitary confinement sounded worse than a bullet to the head at the time, and it was something that I wasn't willing to try out.

I didn't want to face Anne, much less Eddie, but I wasn't left with much of a choice. Weeks without my squad or a call from my wife would have driven me insane. My mind was set, but my body wasn't. My knees trembled in an effort to get my feet to move, and the sensation was nothing short of sickening. It seemed so far away, even though it was less than a twenty second walk. The distance between the gun and I seemed to stretch the longer I laid my eyes on it. "Shit," I mumbled. I looked around to ensure that I wasn't being watched, before I swallowed and wiped away another few trails of sweat. Left with no other choice, I had to bring myself up that same street for the second time in a single day. I made my way out of my makeshift refuge and proceeded across the road. Anne was hanging out a batch of laundry, taking advantage of the relatively decent weather, but I was more relieved by the fact that she hadn't noticed me as I closed in on her residence. I kept my eyes on her, breaking my gaze only momentarily to deduce the distance between my gun and I. For what was supposed to have been a short trek along the pavement felt more like one of the obstacle courses I had been subject to during the early stages of my career.

"Peter?" My face turned white as her soft voice tickled my eardrums. Even from a distance she was completely audible. "Is that you?" I blinked, gazing at my hand as it reached out for the weapon that had been carelessly discarded on the pavement, only for my limb to vibrate violently as I wondered whether or not I should have grabbed it and made a run for it. Within a fraction of a second, the trembling motion had spread through my entire body, and I was left hoping that it wasn't noticeable from the ten or so meter distance between us. I looked up, freezing on the spot as I caught her walking towards me.

"Anne," I nodded nervously, more out of impulse than sheer politeness. I crouched lower and threw the sling over my head and fastened it, ignoring the fact that the butt of my rifle had nearly knocked out my front teeth as I put it on. Regardless, the last thing I needed was to lose it again. "Been a while, huh?"

As I expected, Anne was clearly unnerved by my presence. She didn't appear to have been angry, but rather more concerned at that fact that the man who indirectly caused her husband to lose his beloved job was standing right before her. "Yeah," she replied quietly.

An eerie silence followed. I gazed at the shirts and blouses on her clothes line as they moved in sync with the wind blowing in our general direction. There was nothing particularly interesting about the clothing in question, aside from the fact that they gave me something to look at until one of us broke the silence. After a moment or two, I risked a glance at her, feeling my internal organs ripple with discomfort as she shyly gazed at the pavement beneath her. It was up to me to say something, and I wasn't looking forward to doing so. "How have you been?"

She looked up at me. "Oh, just fine." She looked back at her lawn. "Just hanging out a few wet clothes before any rain comes."

"I see." I looked around me for some inspiration to keep the conversation flowing. "I see your house is looking as natural as ever."

She looked at the abundance of overgrowth on the worn brickwork of her house and grinned. "It's the way I like it," she replied in a slightly more appreciating tone. Despite my attempts at light-hearted conversation, the awkward pauses persisted, and it didn't take long before she started looking disheartened again. "Hey Peter."

I looked back at her, feeling my fingers twitch as she spoke. "Yes?"

Her mouth moved slowly, letting a few drips of saliva dangle from the roof of her mouth. She looked at me shyly, stroking her wrist. "Are you here to see Eddie?"

I didn't delay in denying it. "I was just patrolling the town," I replied. I wanted to kick myself for speaking in such a nervous manner. "And I...well, I just happened to be in the area."

"Then what about the gun?" Her innocent voice left my stomach hanging by a mere thread.

"Ah, you catch on quickly," I replied, resisting the urge to gargle up my breakfast. I gripped my rifle and held it up, taking a second to ensure that it was fastened correctly. "I dropped it while I was passing by, and it took me a while to realize that I forgot it," I chuckled lightly, but my extremely fake laughter didn't appear to convince her.

"I see," she muttered, pulling at the strings of her apron. It was all too clear from her nervous body language that my presence was making her feel uncomfortable, which gave me a more than plausible reason to get the hell out of there.

"Anyways, I can't keep the rest of my squad waiting." I demanded a bathroom break in the middle of our patrol, which left Baker and the other men waiting in the town square. I was gone for a great deal longer than I intended, so the quicker I got back, the less likely Baker was going to snap at me when I returned. The last thing I wanted was to end the afternoon with several pools of spit being shot at my face by an angry Irish man.

"I understand," she nodded. She continued to fiddle with her clothing for another moment before she turned and made her way back to her front lawn. I heaved a sharp sigh of relief, only to have to take it back in when she turned to face me again. "I'll be sure to tell Eddie you stopped by," she smiled, before she slowly trotted back home.

* * *

><p><em>1504/66_

"Why the hell did you run?" Hafen's heightened tone of voice nearly forced me off my seat in fright.

"Keep it down," I said. I looked around for any eavesdroppers, having adapted to Baker's subconscious habit that kicked in whenever he was telling me something of importance several months beforehand. Hafen looked at me and rolled his eyes in disapproval. He went back to scanning through his Playboy magazine, which he purchased after his last issue was torn up by Baker. I dragged the pornography away from him and pouted. "Look, what did you expect me to do? Fucking march on in there, acting like we're best friends again?"

"You seemed pretty eager to march on in there a few weeks ago," he replied, before getting a tight grasp of the pages of his magazine and pulling it back towards him.

"Well, why don't you mosey on down there and try marching in yourself?" My efforts at coercing a response from him was in vain, since he was back to admiring the poster girl of that month's Playboy once again. "Look, just make sure you say nothing to Baker."

"I already promised you that I wouldn't," he groaned, before widening his eyes at a blonde model hiding behind a paragraph of white text right as he turned the pages.

I raised my finger at him. "Especially not to Anthony. His mouth is just as big as Baker's, if not bigger."

"Alright, alright." However, given his usual distrust of Walker, I really didn't have much to worry about. He resumed gawking over the scantily dressed women, while I enjoyed a nice, warm cup of tea.

"Hey fellas!" Killian's unexpected arrival cost me several drops of my tea, as well as my newly washed combats.

"Sergeant," I nodded politely, eagerly trying to wipe away the hot liquid, only to end up washing it deeper into the fabric. "What's up?"

"You see the memo yet?" Killian was tapping his feet wildly.

"What memo?" My question even managed to catch Hafen's attention, although he still threw an occasional glance at his magazine as we spoke.

"The memo on the door over there." He pointed to the front door, which had an A4 sheet of paper crudely taped to it. "Didn't think you'd miss it," he grinned, rubbing his hands together.

"We aren't on patrol until lunch," I added. "Maybe that's why I missed it." Baker and Walker slept in for the morning and weren't showing any signs of awakening for quite a while, and Hafen's habitual ignorance meant that either he didn't notice the memo, or had noticed and merely didn't think to tell me of it. "What's on it?"

"A new hospital is being built in town, apparently." For some reason, he seemed to be fairly pumped by the announcement. Although it only really meant one thing, and it was something I wasn't very adamant to celebrate about.

"I see," I replied, faking my surprise as best as I could. "I wonder what it's for?"

"What the fuck do you think? Hospitals are for, you know, taking care of the sick and shit," Hafen sneered over the pages of his magazine.

"Yeah, and in a town like this, they're also for cutting up newborn kids," I retorted, before shrinking into my seat after realizing that I was speaking in a much louder manner than I initially intended. "...and shit."

"Anyways," Killian continued. "I'll leave you to enjoy your breakfast, and your little session over there." He grinned at Hafen, who responded with mere shake of his head.

I waited until Killian was out of earshot and had reunited with his squad, before I turned to Hafen. "A new hospital?" I shrugged, looking around for more eavesdroppers. "Why do they need another one? Isn't the other one big enough as it is?"

"I don't know." Hafen wasn't liking the idea of hardening himself and conversing at the same time. "Just ask Higgins or something."

"Yeah." Although it would have been hard to do so without pissing off Baker and costing ourselves our next trip home. I took another sip from my tea. "Any hot babes in that?"

Hafen nodded sagely and gave one of the few genuine grins he had ever shown in public. "Oh yeah. There are."

I decided to throw away what little potential there was for prolonging our conversation, and decided to check out this new hospital the moment construction had started.

* * *

><p><em>2204/66_

We weren't waiting for long before the foundations of the new structure had started to mark their presence on the construction site. It appeared that the civilians had already made some decent progress. However, despite how obvious it already was that a new hospital was en route, and what its function was going to be, Williams had called upon us for another conference meeting.

I was relieved at the fact that Hafen remained quiet about our little conversation about Fisher. While Baker knew that I had made several attempts to contact Fisher, being caught doing so in the middle of a patrol would have pissed him off to no end. I reminded him of it as we entered the conference building, but he merely just told me to quit banging on about it, albeit with a great deal of profanity to go alongside it.

We sat down in the usual spot. I scanned the troops around me and found no sign of Sergeant Monroe. I assumed that Clark was still banned from the meetings following our encounter in January, and that Monroe was probably on a patrol on that point.

It was usual hassle that started off these delightful meetings we had. Nigh on one hundred men were present, blabbering away and filling the expanse of the conference hall with the intermittent sounds of laughter and casual banter. Baker and I did the usual and poked a bit of fun at Hafen while we waited, which helped blot out the blind hope that Higgins would have talked a bit about the virus that day. Baker was quick to disagree with me when I brought it up, and I figured that he was right.

"Attention!" The crowd turned to face Williams, who was standing at the podium. "Let's try and make this as quick as possible. I don't want to waste anyone's time over these here meetings."

"Does that go for the other meetings we've been at?" My remark incited a quiet chuckle from Baker and Walker, although I suspected that Walker didn't fully understand what I was referring to judging by how forced his laughter sounded.

"Let's find out," Baker added.

"Alright then." Williams set his hands down on the crude wooden surface of the podium and cleared his throat. I immediately realized that it was he who was going to be hosting this meeting, and I suddenly found everything outside the window to my right a great deal more fascinating. I caught the eye of a mildly attractive woman standing across the street, before she turned away and resumed walking on with her friends. I sighed and crossed my arms, and it wasn't long before the men around me were doing the same thing. "As you all may know, we have a new hospital being built right next to Lloyd's supermarket. Since most of you frequent that area on your patrols, I doubt you will have any problem finding it."

"I wonder how big this hospital is going to be?"

Baker leaned in towards me. "Just about big enough for their experiments," he whispered.

I grinned at him. "You reckon it's going to be another virus hunting ground?"

Baker responded with a nod, before looking back up at the top of the room.

"We're hoping to have the premises fully fitted and ready to serve the local populace within six months," Williams continued. He paused for a moment to allow Chalmers to quieten a few troublemakers near the back of the room, before he decided to resume. "Which brings to me to my next point."

I leaned forward, hopeful for a few helpings of information about the virus. I looked at Baker for approval, but he remained impassive about the matter, immediately indicating that I was going to be disappointed.

"Due to a shortage of manual labour, and since I don't have permission to bring in anyone else from outside the town, we may have to modify a few timetables..." Williams was immediately cut off by the rumbustious groans of the disgruntled troops in the hall. It took a solid twenty or so seconds before the noise was lowered to an acceptable level, and the commanding officers had a hard time keeping it that way for the remainder of the meeting. I was used to the constant modifications at that point, Walker was too oblivious to put up an argument, and Hafen merely muttered a few curses before he shrugged it off as another inconvenience that didn't really concern him that much. As a result, Baker was left relatively stress-free during the ruckus. "As I was saying," Williams continued, left reddened by his efforts to calm the crowd. "Unfortunately, we have to change a few of your schedules to accommodate some assistance for the people in this town." He raised his hands. "Now I know that construction work isn't exactly your forte, but we all have to pitch in. We need this hospital, and your duty is to serve this town accordingly."

Hands started raising throughout the room. Chalmers stepped forward, stomping his bulky boots for added effect. "You can ask questions once the Lieutenant Colonel is finished." A show of hands still remained in the air, despite mutters from their commanding officers to desist. "Put your hands down! Now!" The bellow echoed throughout the hallway, leaving a rather uncomfortable sensation in my bowels, right before the stubborn troops agreed unanimously and lowered their hands.

"Thank you, Sergeant Major," Williams nodded, right as Chalmers retreated to the back of the room. "The foremen on the site will direct you during your assignments. I implore that you listen to them, since they're the ones with the expertise and knowledge." Williams scanned the middle of the room cautiously. "This new building is important, so slacking off won't be accepted. Nor will any carelessness. Squads who display any sign of incompetence will be dealt with swiftly."

"A bit of time in the sewers," I muttered, throwing my eyes at Walker. As I should have expected, he merely looked back at me in confusion.

"Now, we can't have any gaps in our security. The town and checkpoints need to be monitored, as always." Williams forced a smile, one that failed to lighten up the hundred or so men glaring at him. "So, not every squad will be subject to time on the construction site."

* * *

><p><em>2604/66_

I should have known better than to have gotten my hopes up. Even a full afternoon at a gate checkpoint consisting of making sure that Hafen remained at his post at all times while trying to prevent any friendly fire incidents, (none of which ever actually occurred since Walker was usually very careful with his firearms) would have been preferable to this.

Construction workers ran to and fro in front of us, while we carried bags of cement towards the foreman. The man nodded at us and pointed at the pile of bags behind the mixer. We laid our heavy loads down on the pile, while Walker and Hafen had to pause for a breather. Baker trailed behind us and eventually arrived with his share of the load. "Sorry I'm late," he announced smugly, with two bags slumped over his shoulders. However, given that I already knew that he practically grew up working on construction sites, I had little reason to marvel at his strength. In contrast, I spent most of my childhood gambling with my uncle, and Baker's crushing defeats during our poker games was proof of that.

I looked at the crane towering over us. It was a great deal smaller than the ones I've seen in Tallahassee, but it was still at a height that would have left me reaching for the nearest non-rigid object to regurgitate that morning's breakfast into.

"I've seen bigger," Baker added, much to the foreman's disapproval.

"Seeing as you're from the east, I'm not surprised," I added. The crane's relatively short height was an indication that the hospital wasn't going to be very large, so I thought that perhaps this hospital was indeed going to be used only for the civilians. Unless some sort of extension was going to be applied at a later date, which was a possibility that was worth considering. Ideas for the hospital's real purpose kept lashing through my mind, making it hard to for me to concentrate on my work, at least until a quick snap of Baker's fingers brought me out of my daze.

"Listen," he ordered.

I looked up at the foreman who was giving more tasks for us and the other squad, who I recalled to be under the command of Sergeant Joe Rivera. The men gazed at the foreman, who spoke with a nasally southern accent. Whether or not they were listening to what was being said was beyond me, since my thoughts were still lingering at the time.

"Alright then," the foreman concluded with a clap. "Get to it. The quicker you get it done, the quicker you guys can get out here." The row of heads in front of him nodded in response, before making their way towards the other side of the site. Our squad followed their trail, in spite of the fact that I was left completely clueless as to what we were supposed to be doing.

"The fuck are those assholes doing?" Hafen pointed at a pair of construction workers who were resting on a slab of concrete, before shying away when they glared back at him. "Lazy little pricks," he muttered.

"Recommend you keep your mouth shut," Baker stated. "Like the foreman said. The quicker we go about this, the sooner we can go home."

We spent the next two hours helping the construction workers with some of the most mundane tasks in existence. Bringing them water, helping them set up scaffolds and giving them a hand with mixing the cement. The fact that we couldn't resort to letting Walker do the work for us was even more unfortunate. Rivera's squad spent the bulk of their time doing the more interesting work, which involved pouring the concrete into place and smoothing it out. It didn't seem like a whole lot of fun either, but it certainly beat having to carry shit around the place constantly.

Strangely enough, I felt somewhat relieved at the end of our work. Not because of the fact that we were finally allowed to leave, but mainly because the establishment was coming along at a decent pace. The late afternoon sun shone brightly over the slabs of wet concrete that we helped to form, and I felt a little revitalized at the sight of it. Thankfully, all it took was a warm cup of tea and a bit of Hafen's habitual whining to turn me back into the cynical and curious little man that I was.

A few sandwiches and the aforementioned beverage were all too welcome once we arrived back on familiar ground. Baker sat next to me loudly mocking the poor physical conditions of several of the construction workers, while Hafen and Walker quietly remained in their seats. Hafen was, as you'd expect at that stage, admiring the contents of his latest pornographic magazine.

"Could do with a piss," Hafen announced awkwardly, laying his beloved magazine down on the table. He pointed at Walker and frowned. "Don't touch it."

"No problem, Mark," Walker replied, followed by another of his distinctive toothy grins. As if Walker had enough sense to sneak a peek at an issue of Playboy, though I found myself shaking my head at how Hafen still perceived Walker as a hooligan. I failed to understand how someone who spent the last few months fetching our food and laundry for us, and who was also under the false pretense that he was serving his nation, could have been a criminal.

I turned back to face Baker and Allan, who were still exchanging jokes about the construction workers. Trying to get their attention over Allan's rowdy laughter was fruitless, until a quick tap of my mug on the wooden surface of the table caught Baker's eye. "What do you guys think of the new hospital?"

Still giggling from a joke he just told, Allan's lip quivered expeditiously as he tried to speak. "Not bad so far," he mumbled.**  
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"Assuming they don't eat it all before they're finished," Baker sneered, which sent Allan into another frenzy of uncontrollable laughter. At least it was nice to know that he was easily entertained, although I couldn't discern whether or not that was a good thing once I caught O' Mara rolling his eyes at his commanding officer's merriment.

"No seriously," I insisted. "What do you guys think so far?"

"Decent progress," Jason said, although he quickly returned to his lunch after Allan burst into another phase of humor.

"You think it's going to be used for anything...," I paused for a moment, but I feared that delaying any further would have given Baker a chance to make another joke. "...unethical?"

Having finally decided to give the irritating bouts of laughter a rest for the moment, Allan rested his elbows on the table and looked at me. "I wouldn't exactly say a lot of the stuff going on behind the scenes would be ethical, kiddo."

"Ethics is all he ever talks about," Baker interrupted. "Sometimes I wonder if he even knows what he signed up for."

"I'm pretty sure I read the registration form before I signed it, Sarge." Which I did. I was very much aware of what was going to be happening in the town while I was serving, which explains why I was so relieved when I managed to sign up without getting my family involved. Judging by the obliviousness and passiveness exhibited by everybody else, it's quite likely that the rest of the men didn't read a single line of text on the contract. Or maybe my head was really far up my ass at the time, I'm finding it hard to remember right now.

"Why are you so bugged up by the whole virus thing, Johnson?" Killian tilted his head at me in confusion, raising his eyebrows in a curious manner. "Hm?"

"Because it's disgusting," I replied sternly. It wouldn't have taken a genius to have figured that out, but I was starting to wonder if Sergeant Allan was really as smart as he looked.

"But we weren't injected," he said with a crooked smile, as if that was a good thing. "Only the townspeople were."

Baker, as interrupting as ever, decided to cut in. "He doesn't like the idea of people being guinea pigs for the government." He took a quick swig of his coffee. "Or some shit like that."

Allan looked at me and shrugged. "My wife had no problem with being injected." His lips curled into a broad smile, one that still sickens me to this day. "It puts food on the table, and it keeps the country going."

'Ridiculous' was the only word that I could have used to describe the dribble that was coming out of this man's mouth. "And what about this hospital then?" I raised my head and glared into his eyes. "I mean, we've heard enough about newborn children, accelerated growth rates..."

"Night vision," Baker added. Had he decided to maintain some eye contact instead of simply staring at his empty mug, I may have thanked him for the reminder.

"Yeah." I looked back at Allan, whose smile had faded at that point. However, the look on his face was highly reminiscent of my uncle whenever he had one too many cocktails. Completely and utterly absent-minded. "You understand what I'm getting at?"

He blinked a few times, flinching for a second. "Oh! Uh, yeah," he stammered.

"Now this hospital is here, although we have another one just outside the town." I shrugged at him, but he didn't feel compelled to respond. "Doesn't that worry you?"

"No, I can't say that it does," he beamed, much to my surprise. "It's the way this whole thing was supposed to turn out." He sipped at the edge of his cup, barely getting any of the hot liquid into his mouth. "So I can't really complain."

Looking at Baker with a look of a disbelief didn't do me any favors, since he merely shrugged in response. Then again, since the pair of them were getting along rather well ever since Fisher departed, I shouldn't have been so surprised that trying to pry some concern out of Allan turned out to be just as useless as my attempts to do the same with Baker. "The two of you are so alike that it hurts my fucking head."

"He means that in a good way," Baker smirked, nudging his friend on the shoulder.

"You're all fucking alike," I spouted, only to retract once I caught the attention of a few nearby soldiers, who looked at me with even more confusion than Walker when he tried his hand at poker.

"What's up with you? You've been awfully cranky lately."

Baker nudged Allan and whispered into his ear, though I could clearly make out what he was muttering. "It's his time of the month." Words that were followed by a chorus of childish giggling. Baker shot me an apprehensive look as he laughed away with his companion, which was enough of a warning for me to cool down. I was merely repeating myself at that point anyway, and no one seemed to be paying any heed. The only person who even remotely understood the trauma that was caused by REDLIGHT was Fisher, and it took him a nasty crack to the head and a hefty dismissal for him to realize it. I felt like ramming my head into the table, but I wasn't in the mood for a lecture from Baker. Or a cracked skull.

"Where's Mark?" Walker's yokel accent was the last thing I wanted to hear after enduring such nonsensical behavior from the meathead next to me, but he did raise a point. It had been well over ten minutes since Hafen went for his little bathroom break. I wasn't sure if his earlier remark regarding his bowel movements had proven to be true, or if he was just spending some quality time with his manhood. I shuddered at both prospects, and I wasn't willing to find out for myself.

"I don't know," I responded, trying my best to remain at ease, although I doubt Walker would have been able to tell the difference. I looked at O' Mara, who was haply listening in on us, but he merely shrugged. Baker and the rest of Allan's squad were busy conversing about the construction worker's lackluster physiques, so looking for their opinion would have been an utter waste of my time. I turned back to Walker and smiled innocently. "Why don't you go have a look? I mean, the man won't be doing his nation much good if he's stuck in the bathroom all day."

Walker nodded solemnly. "Good point, Corp." He leaped from his seat, almost bringing the entire table down on us, and sprinted for the corridor next to the canteen. The light from the windows shone brightly upon the lanky little man as he proceeded towards the end of the corridor, before eventually disappearing out of sight as he fumbled his way into the bathroom.

"He makes it way too easy for me," I mumbled, before throwing myself back in my seat and closing my eyes. I've been letting the whole issue with the virus get on my nerves over the last few months far too easily, to the point of where I just wanted to forget about it all. There were more pressing matters to attend to, such as reconciling with Fisher, getting Clark lumbered into the sewers for as long as possible, as well as securing a departure slip to go home and see my family. It was hard to overlook what was going on behind the scenes, and my curious nature was making things quite difficult for me. Learning more about the newborns, the side effects of their manifestation of the virus, and finding out what was up with the horrifying scar on Higgins' back. Things couldn't have been any more stressful for me at that point, or so I thought.

Taking another sip from my tea and exchanging a few quiet words with O' Mara, alongside ignoring the increasingly irritating attempts at humor from Baker, were all I could do to keep myself occupied. We had a patrol within half an hour, so going back to our bunk room alone would have been a waste of time.

O' Mara, looking more concerned than usual, pouted at me. "Anthony's taking his time, huh?"

"Shit, you're right," I replied, coming to the sudden revelation that another five minutes had passed. "What, did he decide to join in or something?"

For once, Jason actually seemed to express a bit of amusement, since getting a smile out of him was about as simple as getting Baker to keep a secret. I looked back at the corridor where Walker had sprinted to earlier on. I squinted at the door at the end of the hallway, only to see it immediately snap open, followed by a loud slam as it collided with the wall. If Chalmers was on the premises, I'm pretty sure he would have been handing out a few sewer patrols at that stage. Walker emerged from the bathroom and jogged towards us. Hafen's absence was concerning to say the least, and I was hoping that the man wasn't suffering from constipation, or severe impotence. The last I needed was more whining.

"Anthony! Where's Hafen?"

He grinned, providing me with a brief sense of relief, at least until he opened his mouth. "He's still in the bathroom, Corp. He's talking with Richie."

The muscles in my arms tightened and I could feel my legs tense up. "Richie? As in, Clark?"

Blissfully unaware of the potential consequences, Walker merely shrugged. "Well, yeah. Who else?"

I looked at O' Mara, who seemed to be just as terrified as I was. "_Fuck,"_ he mouthed at me.

We jumped from our seats and ran to the bathroom with as much speed as we could muster. Why I didn't think to stop and tell Baker about it baffled me, but it was too late to turn around at that point. We closed in on the room, taking a moment to wrench at the smell of stale urine, before we fumbled inside and took in the surroundings.

Hafen was lying on the yellow tiled floor, his face covered in blood. He was struggling to rise from the floor, before slipping back down to the ground right as Clark shoved his boot down on his victim. Clark pressed his boot onto Hafen's backside, and the deep creases and wet patches on his uniform indicated that he was being beat around for quite some time. Clark had his back turned to us, and Hafen didn't seem to register our presence yet. I raised my hand to O' Mara, who seemed awfully desperate to charge away at Clark. I wanted to avoid a direct confrontation, so I reckoned that knocking the bastard out before he figured out that we were there was probably the best approach. _"Quiet,"_ I mouthed, and O' Mara seemed to get the message.

I looked around for something blunt that I could use. The trashcan was out of the equation, since all it would have done was add to the terrible stench that was already present in the room. I looked at the urinals, only to see that the one closest to us was badly smashed, with bits of bloody shards scattered across the floor. The pipe that connected the urinal to the wall was loosened, and seemed to be in decent enough condition to be used as a makeshift weapon. Clark kept pressing his boot into Hafen's back, quietly laughing away at his victim. All Hafen could do was groan, supposedly lacking the strength necessary to even scream for help. I wasn't left with any options, so I walked towards the pipe.

I remained as quiet as possible, taking my time with each step. For a second I figured that this stealthy approach would have worked out, at least until my boot landed in a puddle right next to the urinal, which was more than loud enough to have caught Clark's attention. The man turned, revealing his stocky little head and bloodshot eyes. He glared at me, and his diabolical grin quickly turned into an angry frown. I gripped the brown pipe hanging from the wall, flinching for a second as my hands caressed the wet surface, and I pulled it. I turned to O' Mara, hoping to ask him to distract Clark, but there was no need for me to have opened my mouth. O' Mara was already running for his nemesis and he dived for him. Nimbly dodging the attack, Clark threw his fist at his attacker, striking his jaw. O' Mara stumbled to the floor, raising his feet up to defend himself, but Clark had no intention of retaliating any further, since he already identified the most apparent threat. He already did enough damage to O' Mara two years ago, so he was clearly looking for a new man to mutilate. Me.

The man roared as he threw himself in my direction. My mouth dried up in fright, but I was still angered enough to wrench the pipe free from the wall and raise it at Clark. "Come on," I screamed, right as I readied my weapon. I swung the metallic tube at the bridge of my assailant's nose. My weapon hit the target with a resounding clank, splitting his skin and presumably breaking the nasal bone. With a howl of pain, Clark stepped away and slipped, falling to the ground with considerable force. I backed away, observing his trembling body, right as he attempted to cradle his wound.

"Oh fuck," he moaned. "My fucking nose! Oh shit!" He started to roar, with a mixture of anger and pain. He raised his hands, which at that stage were soaked. His badly ravaged nose was leaking sickening amounts of blood, enough to have put me in an apologetic position, but I was too shocked to even say anything. I dropped the pipe, which had a wide smear of red liquid across it, and I backed away even further.

O' Mara, who seemed to be still in relatively good humor despite his injury, proceeded to help Hafen off the ground. Hafen was able to walk and speak without much difficulty, indicating that no severe damage had been caused, but the gashes and cuts across his face were still quite a sight. He limped towards one of the cubicles and rested himself on the toilet seat, faintly muttering curses. For once, the man actually had a very good reason to be moaning, since being stuck in here for fifteen minutes with a man like Richard Clark couldn't have been a very delightful experience.

An ensemble of footsteps broke the eerie silence that followed. I tilted my head towards the door, and I could feel my insides sink. Baker, Walker, Allan and at least three other soldiers had just entered the bathroom, staring at us in confusion and shock. I didn't know what to say. All I could do was just look back, shivering due to the scuffle I had just taken part in. Baker walked forward, unable to take his eyes off Clark. "Johnson." He eventually mustered the nerve to confront me. "What the hell..." He gulped, stealing a quick glance at the pipe. "What the hell happened?"

O' Mara stepped forward. "Clark assaulted Hafen, sir. We were only trying to help."

Allan emerged from the crowd and pointed at his subordinate. "Come here."

"But sir-"

"Please, Jason, I don't want to get angry with you," Allan stated as reasonably as he could. "Just come away from that cubicle."

O' Mara looked at me with disappointment, sighing heavily as he trudged towards his commanding officer. He scuttled in behind the crowd and left the room without uttering another word. I stood my ground, staring at the crowd who continued to observe the scene. Baker pointed at Walker and indicated Hafen, who was still tending to his own face in the cubicle. "Walker, you're our squad medic. Get Hafen some medical attention."

"Sure thing, Sarge." Walker strolled towards Hafen and hoisted him up. Hafen wrestled himself away in disgust, before quickly muttering an apology after receiving a stern look from Baker. Walker smiled and escorted Hafen out of the bathroom, whose face was still bleeding rather extensively. The crowd of men parted to make way for the pair, before they disappeared out of sight.

"Where's Sergeant Monroe?" Baker turned to the other men, before one of them raised his hand.

"I saw him and his men out in the shooting range half an hour ago."

Allan smiled at the man, who wasn't in his squad by the looks of it, and approached him. "Would you go fetch him for us? Tell him to go to the infirmary." The man nodded and ran out the door. Allan pointed at the other men and then pointed at the distorted Clark. "Fletcher, Jones. Get him to the infirmary. Get him patched up."

"Will do, Sarge," Fletcher replied, who was presumably the squad's medic, and he proceeded towards Clark and grabbed him by the arms. Jones moved around and gripped Clark's legs, struggling for a moment before loading Clark's feet onto his shoulders. The pair awkwardly managed to move the incapacitated man out of the room. Why Clark needed to be carried away, despite the fact that he only received an injury to the face, was really beyond me. Regardless, I wasn't in a position to argue.

"Well. You did quite a bit of damage there, didn't you?" Baker wasn't looking particularly friendly.

I glanced at the pipe and reached for it, holding it up to show off the bloodstain. "I did, huh?" I looked up and shrugged, feeling more at ease now that the bastard was outside the room. "Guess he got a taste of his own medicine." I looked at Allan. "Jason would have said the same."

Allan frowned, an expression that was still fairly tame compared to how Baker looked. "What happened between him and Clark years ago isn't relevant."

Silence followed, but Baker's facial expression was enough of an indication of what he wanted to say. "_You attacked Clark," _was exactly what it spelled out.

"It was self-defense," I stated.

"So you decided to break his nose with a pipe," Baker retorted, shaking his head. "Do you have any idea how this will make us look?"

"Yeah?" I was getting aggressive at that point, a side effect of the stress I just suffered from. "And what if Hafen got killed? How do you think _that_ would have made us look?"

Another moment of silence. Baker looked away, still shaking his head in disapproval. Allan seemed to be more disappointed than angry, giving me a very dismal look. "Chalmers is going to freak," he said.

"That's his fucking problem," I replied, dropping the pipe and brushing past the pair of them.

"Go back to the bunk room," Baker ordered. "We'll deal with you once we get Hafen patched up."

"That's exactly what I was going to do." I moved out of earshot before he got a chance to reply. Despite how childish that may have sounded, I wasn't in the mood for prolonging the argument.

All eyes in the mess hall were on Fletcher and Jones, who were still carrying Clark to the other end of the hall. At least a dozen men were in pursuit, hoping to get a glance at Clark's injuries. They were approaching the corridor at the eastern side of the mess hall, so I wasn't able to discern any of the chatter. Despite the crowd, Jones and Fletcher were able to break through without any problem, before they disappeared down the corridor. The infirmary was the last door on the right, so getting there shouldn't have been an issue for them. For a second I felt like going to check up on Hafen, but I imagined that making an appearance right after our little scuffle wouldn't have been the best idea. Our squad's image was probably tarnished enough as it was, so making it look any bleaker was the last thing I wanted to do. I turned and made my way towards the corridor situated next to the building's entrance, which led the way to our bunk room.

I managed to get there without incident, and the fact that the neighboring bunk rooms were deserted was all too relieving. Clark's mangled nose still weighed heavy on my mind and the aftershock from the adrenaline left me a bit dazed, so interrogatives from fellow military personnel would have just made things more painful for me. I dropped my entire body weight on my bunk bed, immediately appeased by the creaks of the feeble timber that held it together. Having a moment's time to rest was all too welcome at that point, since my bad luck was really starting to bore down on me. REDLIGHT was starting to become like more of a jinx than an actual virus. A virus can be avoided, but a jinx sticks by you until you can find some way to get rid of it. However, living in a town that revolves around this jinx made this a much harder task than it sounded. Even so much as mentioning the bloody thing ended up getting me involved in another travesty, and one that threatened the welfare of the entire squad.

I closed my eyes and tried to rest, but my entire body was still trembling. The health sections of the local newspapers, that I recently found myself developing an addiction to, stated that these sort of situations invoke a "fight-or-flight response", and it was a symptom that I found myself encountering far too many times for my personal tastes. My face was flushed, and I seemed to have been getting a bit of a temperature, which I reckoned was what prevented me from falling asleep. I stood, opened my hamper and fetched my towel. What I needed was a nice, cool shower to get me back to speed. Maybe then I would have been able to calm down and approach the situation with greater ease. I unbuttoned my jacket and proceeded to walk out the door, only to be stopped dead in my tracks by a series of footsteps behind me, one of which stood out among the others. It was almost as if the individual was stamping his way towards me, and the sound of heavy boots slamming against the concrete floor was enough of an indication of who it was.

I turned to face a pair of men, both of whom I recognized as the same men who stand guard at the conference hall's door during a meeting. I stood to attention and as I raised my hand to salute, the two men stood aside briskly, revealing Sergeant Major Chalmers, who had his trousers tucked into his pair of oversized black boots.

"Corporal Peter Johnson," he began, walking closer to me, highlighting his below average height. He looked up at me and frowned, his neatly trimmed eyebrows arching down. Suppressing a smile was proving to be very difficult at that stage, but I didn't have much to be happy about once he opened his mouth again. "Mind if I see you in my office?"


	11. REUNION

**REUNION**

_Hey guys. Just want to thank you all for reading this far. Please leave any feedback you may have, as I'm actively seeking to improve my work, so any advice you have or any errors you may have encountered throughout the story would definitely be worth mentioning. I won't bite. :)_

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I have to admit that I was surprised when Chalmers escorted me into his office without muttering a single obscenity. The man, as you've probably already figured out for yourself, was probably the strictest of all the officers in the town. It was good to see him taking his responsibilities seriously, even if it didn't do much good for me half of the time. Which is why seeing him speak to me without being accompanied by so much as a frown came as a bit of a shock, but I made a conscious effort to remain as monotone as I could.

He paused for a moment after I had explained my side of the story, and I could have sworn that I caught the little bastard smirking under his breath. "It's not everyday you see Corporal Clark getting his own share of the pain." He blew a cloud of stale smoke in my direction, before he set the bud of his cigarette in the ashtray on the table next to him. He walked to the other side of the room and leaned on one of the lockers.

I felt that I was in the green. "So I'm clear to go, then?"

"Oh no." He folded his arms and shook his head. "Absolutely not."

"But it was self-defense," I replied, trying hard to keep my voice steady.

"Private Anthony Walker testified that you ran to Private Mark Hafen's aid without informing your commanding officer." He shrugged. "I don't know what made you do something as stupid as that, son."

I paused, struggling to think of something genuine to say. "But if we delayed any further, Hafen could have been badly injured."

"I doubt taking a few seconds to get Sergeant Alan Baker's assistance would have been that much of a problem for you." His tendency to state full names was starting to get on my nerves. "The situation could have been handled without such violence if you had an officer with you."

"But what about Hafen? He got his fucking head smashed off a urinal! Did you not see the blood on his face?" I paused again, reminding myself to keep calm. "I had every reason to step in for him."

Chalmers shook his head again. "Let me repeat what I just said," he sighed. "The situation could have been handled without such violence if you had an officer with you."

"Violence, huh? You're talking about Clark's nose?" I was still left a tad shaken from the exorbitant amount of blood he was leaking when I scored him with the pipe. "So, what? Are you letting him off the hook because he got injured?"

He raised his hand to his chest. "Of course not," he retorted, clearly offended by my suggestion. "The more time Richard Clark spends in the sewers, the better it is for me!"

"Then why don't you just fire him?"

"I've tried," he sighed, reaching into his breast pocket for another cigarette. "And Williams agreed with me, but General Stillwell doesn't want men being taken off duty over something so," he sighed again, "_trivial_, according to him."

"Assuming the stupid fuck even knows what 'trivial' means," I groaned, before perking back up following a disapproving glance from Chalmers. "Sorry."

He took a puff from his cigarette. I knew at that moment that a lecture was on its way. "I know you and Williams don't see eye to eye, and that I can accept, but I won't accept any disrespect for Stillwell." Chalmers was presumably not one for the stating the full names of his superiors. "I don't always agree with him, but the man works hard to keep food and supplies coming into the town, especially since the war in Vietnam has put a strain on our budget."

Not that I actually cared, but I nodded regardless. I didn't want to annoy the man out of his sober mood. "I understand."

He took another puff and strolled over to the table. "I checked your timetable, which is rather busy right now." He exhaled, blowing more smoke at me. "So I can only afford to put you in for the next two weekends."

"In the sewers, no doubt."

He smirked and took another drag. "Exactly," he coughed.

"Will you be throwing Clark into solitary confinement?"

"His punishment doesn't concern you, son." He discarded his cigarette, before he eventually decided to take a seat. "But if it makes you feel better, I can assure you that his punishment will be a hell of a lot more brutal than yours is."

"That's good to know," I smiled, and despite how forced it was it had seemed to satisfy him.

"Right. I want you at the sanitation station outside town at..." He glanced at his watch. "...9.30 on Saturday morning. Capiche?"

"Yes."

"Right. You are dismissed, Corporal."

I saluted, bid my farewells and strolled out of his office. I made my way down the corridor, leading into the mess hall, where at least a dozen pairs of eyes were glaring at me as I continued on towards my bunk room. I was almost ready to snap at that point in time, but I got myself involved in enough fights for one day. The only people who really deserved any further violence were Clark and his squad, alongside the fuckers behind the REDLIGHT virus for unknowingly catching my curiosity so damn often.

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One could never get used to the stench coming from the grimy liquid that we were forced to patrol by as a makeshift form of punishment. The sewers were hated, since pretty much almost every soldier in the town had been down there for at least a day. Since the smell in the tunnels was so strong that you could probably cut it with a knife, it was no surprise that even mentioning this accursed place was enough to frighten the living daylights out of any local man. I didn't take these kinds of punishments as badly as anybody else, primarily due to the fact that I enjoyed a bit of solitude every now and again, even if I spent a lot of the time covering my nose with the collar of my jacket.

I was happy that my second weekend down there was nearing its conclusion, since I did start to miss being able to perform my military duties without having to constantly retch at some of the foulest odors in existence. Every time I crept by the streams of water gushing through the tunnels, I wondered where all of this waste could have been coming from. There were only a couple of hundred people living in the town, so there was no apparent logical reason as to why this much sewage was coming through Hope. The most probable reason was that Hope's sewage system was connected to its neighboring towns and villages, despite that most of them were several klicks from our location, and its civilians were never allowed near the External Zone. Then again, even I was never allowed to wander in the External Zone, since the truck that took me to the airport every couple of months never slowed down enough to have given me a proper look at the surrounding area.

At one point I just stared at the putrid water for a solid ten minutes, wondering if any of it was waste from the test chambers near the field hospital. Maybe some medical apparatus or leftover guts and intestines were carelessly discarded down here to avoid the trouble of transporting them somewhere safer. Maybe something of significance to the virus' research had been thrown away by complete accident. However, the odds of finding something important in such a cesspit was unlikely around that time, and I already reeked enough as it was from just being in the sewers so I had no real reason to jump in and find out for myself.

I strolled over one of the bridges that connected both sides of the tunnel I was patrolling. I placed my hand on the railing, only to jump away as I realized that the damn thing was wet. I didn't even bother to smell it and try to decipher whether or not it came from the sewage flowing beneath my feet, so I just wiped it away on my jacket and hoped for the best. I continued on to the other side and walked on towards the end of the tunnel. It was quite a walk as well, and I found myself becoming slightly winded as I continued to walk through each of the tunnels I had been assigned to. Having to spend nine hours down here for two weekends gradually became a bore, even if it did offer me the chance to speak to myself out loud without any interruption.

"Fuck this shit," I muttered as I came to the end of another tunnel, while looking at my watch to realize that only an hour had passed. "I've walked through at least four tunnels by now." I sat down on the ground, taking a moment to adapt to the chilliness of the concrete, before I threw my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. The only security cameras down here were attached to the manholes and to the grates that blocked off the sewer from the rest of the world, so I was able to relax for a minute without getting into trouble.

All I could think about was Fisher. The horrified expression on his face, right as he glared at me while I drove into town with his pregnant wife several months beforehand, was all I could picture in my mind. I still missed the lanky bastard. His cheerful personality, his clumsiness and his fascination with warfare were traits that were uncommon among the men stationed in this town. Yet, all it took was one little incident to take all of that away from him. I was afraid to even imagine what kind of a man he had become ever since he lost his beloved career. "Fuck me, Eddie," I whimpered to myself. "Words can't express how sorry I am."

That's when I heard it. My eyes snapped open and I rose to my feet, nearly shattering my elbow as it hit the wall. I didn't have time to think about the pain, so I grabbed my rifle and slowly skulked down towards the nearest chute that led to another tunnel. I peered over the corner and listened.

The unnerving sound of glass being shattered. Some muttering, which was completely indiscernible from my location. There were footsteps too, although they were slight, indicating that their owner was quite far away. I crept down the chute, bringing my gun to bear and focusing on the sight of my M16. I checked my sling to make sure that it was properly attached, not wanting a repeat of what happened several weeks ago, and I sped up a little bit. I neared the tunnel where the sounds were coming from, and they gradually became louder as I moved closer to the source.

The light bulb hanging from the ceiling offered completely insufficient illumination of the vast hole I was moving into, and the rest of the lights in the tunnel appeared to have been broken, which explained the smashed glass on the ground. At that rate, I was afraid that I wouldn't have been able to react in time if the target was armed and attacked from a distance. My grip on the rifle was tightening, and I could feel my sight blur as I stared into the darkness. I turned and made my way into the tunnel, feeling my bowels tighten as I heard a loud roar coming from the end of it.

"Fuck!" That was it. An obscenity that had been blurted out so loudly that even Hafen would have probably shaken his head in disgust. I continued to move ahead, slowly taking my own footsteps into account so that I wouldn't have ended up startling the guy. Having to move around in the dark was unnerving, even worse was the fact that my only guides were the footsteps in the background. I could just about make out a silhouette in the distance, supported by a lantern resting on the ground next to him. The light shone brightly on the grate overlooking it, which immediately confirmed to me that this guy wasn't another soldier who had probably gotten lost on his patrol. This was a civilian, and he was trying to escape.

A grinding sound broke the eerie silence, and the silhouette moved closer to the light, but it was still too far away to identify. The noise got louder, and soon I could pinpoint the object. It collided with the grate, sending sparks flying into the air, although it appeared to have been making no progress. "It's a fucking electric saw," I mumbled to myself. I couldn't tell if it was portable, or if he managed to find a socket somewhere, but either way I wasn't going to let him proceed any further. I looked at the camera hanging over the grate, though the lackluster lighting would have made it difficult for it to see the culprit. I sneaked up towards him, and soon enough I was merely a few meters away from him. My grip on the rifle tightened, and I raised it. I had my eyes set on his head. I licked my lips and readied myself.

"Hey," I shouted. The civilian looked back, and although his face was covered by the shade, his body language was a strong indication of how he was going to react. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He paused for a brief moment, and just as I expected, he dropped the saw and ran into the tunnel to the right.

"Stop!" I pursued him without delay, and luckily he wasn't very far ahead of me by the time I sprinted into the tunnel. Most of the light bulbs down this tunnel were still intact, so I was able to catch a momentary glimpse of him each time he passed one, right before he ran into the shade that followed each ray of light. The man had a brown jacket and was wearing a pair of combat trousers, both of which were casual enough to have afforded him the bit of speed he needed to stay ahead of me.

He turned into another tunnel and was making his way towards M-2, which was the sector that I had been assigned to. The lights down here had also been smashed, pretty much negating any chance of him being identified on the security camera next to the manhole cover. All I had to guide me were a few lights in the background that were still working, and his shadow continued to bob left and right as he ran ahead. "You won't get far!"

Calling out to him was all I could do, and I wasn't considering letting off a warning shot or two at that time, even though Baker and Walker would have done so without much hesitation. I continued to pursue him for at least five minutes, and I could have sworn that he had me running in circles. He was haply ignoring the other sectors, likely to avoid any other soldiers who were in the vicinity. I could have stopped and called out for assistance, but I couldn't have afforded taking my eyes off the civilian, and it wouldn't have looked very good for me if Chalmers learned that I was neglecting my post.

I was starting to run out of breath. The cramps in my back and my shortness of breath were poor indications of how long I was going to last. My legs were tiring and my lungs were aching. If I didn't back this bastard away into a dead end, I'd have been left chasing him for the rest of the afternoon. I was left with no choice, so I skidded to a halt, nearly slipping on the wet concrete. He was about to cross a bridge leading to another tunnel. Had I been closer, I could have just lobbed him into the water, but that option was out of the equation at that moment. I raised my rifle and aimed it at the tunnel he was about to scamper into. I exhaled deeply, highlighting the hoarseness of my voice, and I wrapped my finger around the trigger. I let rip a trio of shots, nearly deafening myself from the thunderous snaps coming from my gun right as the bullets collided with the concrete wall. The man jumped in fright and looked back at me, although there still wasn't enough light to expose his facial features. He ran straight ahead, ignoring the tunnel adjacent to him, and at that moment I felt relieved. He fell right into my trap.

He continued to sprint down towards the end of the tunnel we inhabited and I followed suit. He ran through another light that he had forgotten to put out, before concealing himself in the darkness once again. He eventually proceeded into a narrow corridor, where his little marathon across the sewers would have finally come to an end. I ran inside and raised my rifle. I wasn't planning on shooting again, but it was nice to try and portray an image of an authority.

A grate. A security camera. A light. He was going nowhere now. He stared at the gargantuan drain that prevented him from moving on any further, and soon enough he dropped his head in shame. He remained silent, and all that was audible was the water gushing beneath the bridge deck we were standing on. I was still shrouded in darkness, so I decided to approach the light to get a better view of things.

"It's over! You've nowhere to run!" My sight was aimed directly at his head, so I wouldn't have needed much time to retaliate if he happened to have been carrying a firearm at the time. However, I eventually realized that the possibility of him holding a gun should have been the last thing on my mind. He turned to face me, his head still drooped down, likely trying to avoid the security camera that was oogling him.

"Alright, I want your hands on your head."

No response. He remained completely still, gazing at the deck. The tension was irritating me.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice." I stepped a bit closer to the light, feeling a tad nauseous by his decision to remain quiet. "I haven't got all day."

He looked up at me, but his head motioned too quickly to have given me a chance to identify him. Within an instant the bastard was charging for me. I was merely a few meters from his position, but I was still covered in darkness, so I tried to use the opportunity to dodge, but to no avail. He crashed into me and threw me against the wall. He pressed his body weight against my rifle, throwing my aim off, causing me to fire a barrage of rounds into the darkness. The muzzle flashes briefly lit up the corridor, and soon I found myself fighting for control of the rifle. My attacker grunted, moaned and wheezed as I resisted his grapple, but we were getting absolutely nowhere. He had the rifle pressed against my abdomen, and I jerked it back and forth in an attempt to thwart his grip. He wasn't a terribly strong man, but he was aggressive and quite agile. Readjusting my grip would have cost me the gun, and hence cost me my life. "You won't be able to run," I muttered to his face. "Even if you kill me, the other men down here will have heard those shots." I jerked my body weight forward and he stepped back momentarily, before he thrust himself back in my direction. "And when they do. You. Are. A. Dead. Man." Despite the awkward delivery, my taunts seemed to have worked.

"Fuck you," he screamed. I could feel my eyes widen as he bellowed further insults to my face. His voice was undoubtedly familiar, but I just couldn't figure out why. He became increasingly aggravated, and tried to knee me in the crotch, although I managed to block his strikes with my own legs. It was at this stage that I decided to play dirty. I gulped, trying to ignore his exasperating grunts, and I readjusted my grip. If I screwed this move up, he would have gained the advantage, grabbed the rifle, and have reduced me into a bloody mess within seconds. I moved my hand down to the butt of the rifle, hesitating for a split second as his body weight started to overwhelm me, before I grabbed it and threw it up. With a resounding crack, the gun struck his jaw, an attack that sent him back several paces. With his grip loosened, I thrust my gun into his stomach and knocked him away from me. My assailant slipped back and hit the bridge deck.

"Get up," I growled, with the gun sitting in my hands. "I said get up!" I shot the wall as warning, not wanting to give him the impression that he was free to attack me again. He shuffled to his feet without delay. "Right, now over there," I commanded, pointing to the grate, and he obeyed my order without any question. He trudged over to the grate, passing under the graceful yellow beam being channeled from the light bulb hanging over him. I followed him, and grabbed his shoulder. "Turn the fuck around." I threw him against the wall to the left, digging my rifle into his stomach. Being the stubborn bastard that he was, he insisted upon keeping his head down. I grabbed his chin and forced it up, revealing what he had been desperately trying to hide.

"No way."

I stepped back, relinquishing my grip on the rifle, only for it to dangle freely from the sling. My fingers trembled, my lips quivered, and I could feel my stomach twist and turn as I gazed into his eyes.

"Eddie?"

Private Edward Fisher. His thin face was all too recognizable, minus the cheerful smile he always had plastered on his face whenever any signs of confrontation loomed. He looked away, exposing the thin stream of blood pouring from his lower lip.

"What the fuck are you doing down here?"

"I think you've already figured that out for yourself." Still no further attempts at eye contact. All I got was some mumbling, and I was surprised that I was even able to respond. I just wanted to get the hell out of there and let somebody else deal with him, but I was too nervous to even move my legs.

"Eddie. I..." I wasn't sure what the situation demanded. Trying to excuse myself for what happened in 1965, or arresting him for attempted escape? "Why?"

He looked up, and his face gradually started to boil. "Why? Why am I trying to escape from this virus that keeps fucking me over?" He walked away from the wall, prompting me to hold my rifle back up at him, although he appeared to have been unaffected by the gesture. "Isn't that obvious, Peter?"

"Hey, look, I hate this virus too. But, escaping? Don't you know the punishment for that?"

"I do," he retorted, raising his arms up in a defensive pose. "Of course I fucking do! I read the fucking contract, didn't I? But let's be honest here, what do you think would be better? Getting a bullet to the head, or watching your only son getting cut open by scientists? Huh?"

"Well, I don't know what to say to that," I mumbled.

"Yeah, exactly, because you don't know what it's like." He stepped closer, and in turn I curled my finger around the trigger. "Which explains why you and sarge had absolutely no fucking problem getting me thrown in the can."

"Eddie, please, we had no choice." His voice was becoming increasingly aggressive, and I wasn't sure how long it would have been before he decided to go at me again. "I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to do it at all. But, I have a family too, Eddie."

"Yeah," he nodded, while grinding his teeth. "And it's a good fucking thing that they're tucked away in Florida, huh?"

"That doesn't change anything, Eddie. I couldn't sacrifice my right to see them." He continued to glare at me, but he stalled his advance. Whether or not I managed to calm him or just aggravate him even more remained totally unclear. "I was worried about you. I tried to see you, but..."

"Oh yeah, Anne told me about that," he giggled. "She also told me about that bullshit excuse about your gun."

"Yeah, I was being just as careless as you." I wasn't sure if I was going to regret this move or not, but my options were limited at that stage, and I really didn't want to consider shooting him. "Y'know, like that time you ripped Hafen a new asshole?"

His face lightened up a bit. "Oh yeah. Shit, that was great." He grinned, providing me with a brief moment to prolong the distance between us. "Does he still have that really big scar on his ass?"

I nodded, grateful for the quick break from the stress. "He does, actually. He likes to show it off in the showers."

I couldn't believe it myself, but Fisher was actually laughing. I spent the last few months worried about how much he had changed, but in the end he was still the same humorous, ambitious and outright absent-minded man he had always been. At least for that very moment anyway. "Wait. No!" He snarled at me, reigniting the burning look in his eyes. "I won't be fed any more bullshit! Not this time!" He clenched his bony fists and walked towards me.

"Eddie, stop!" I waved my gun at him, which had successfully fended him back. "If I have to defend myself, I will!"

"Go ahead," he jeered. "You fucked up my life enough as it is, so why stop now?"

"Eddie, it was REDLIGHT that did this to you."

"No, Peter. It was _your_ decision," he growled. Perhaps trying to alleviate my responsibility wasn't the best idea at the time. "It was _you_ who could have said no when the army cried foul."

"I don't know what you're trying to say," I replied. Another warning shot would have been ideal at that point in time, but I was more absorbed in my attempt to console him and save myself from another grapple fight. "It's not like I really had a choice. Eddie, I have a family."

"You already fucking said that!" He gritted his teeth and strolled towards the grate, granting me a moment's respite. He grabbed the iron bars that held it together and rested his head on them. "You already said that."

Silence. Again, all that could be heard was the gushing water beneath us, which contained the excrement and discarded waste of Idaho's civilians. The only option I had was to issue an arrest. The security camera overlooking us had probably identified Fisher by now, and the personnel monitoring it were probably already in the process of informing Chalmers or, god forbid, Williams. There was also the case of the gunshots that had no doubt echoed throughout all the nearby sectors, so the arrival of reinforcements was soon to be expected.

"Eddie. Attempting to escape from the town is a serious infraction." I lowered my gun, hoping that I could level with him. Threatening him seemed to piss him off, so keeping him calm was exactly what I had to do.

"You already said that," he mumbled. He started pulling at the bars, as if he was trying to rip them out of the grate.

"Look, Eddie. I hate this virus as much as the ne-"

"Shut up!" He rammed his head into the grate. He was too obtuse to have realized that such a collision would have actually hurt quite a lot, which explained why he started rubbing his forehead immediately afterwards. "Stop repeating yourself," he said. "It's all you ever do."

"You okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you very much." His tenuous display of sarcasm aside, I moved ahead to issue an arrest.

"Look, Eddie. You know what has to be done." I put away my weapon and grabbed his arms, slightly alarmed by how spindly they were. "It's better that I take you in, than having some random jackass do it."

He surrendered without argument, save for a few incomprehensible mutters. I held him back from the grate and threw him back towards the corridor we emerged from. I raised my gun at his back and ordered him to move forward.

"How's Hafen?"

We were moving over the bridge and were already making our way towards M-2 briskly, so we didn't have much time for conversation.

"I asked you a question," he said.

"I'm well aware of that," I replied.

"Then why won't you answer?" I remained silent right as we passed into another tunnel, one that had been rendered as black as night thanks to Fisher's little clash with the light bulbs earlier on. "Huh?"

"I don't feel like answering," I stated.

"For the of love of god!" He stopped, colliding with my rifle's barrel, almost frightening me into pulling the trigger. He was about to turn, but a prod in the back from my gun changed his mind.

"Don't turn around," I ordered.

"That's always been your problem, Peter." He nudged the rifle away and strolled on, and I followed suit. "You can't make your damn mind up!"

As much as I hate to admit it, I was never very good at tolerating criticism, prompting a response that I should have kept to myself. "What do you mean?"

"One moment you think this, then another moment you think that. This and that, this and that, this and that," he chanted, shaking his head from side to side to emphasize his point. "Good fucking lord."

"I don't know what you mean," I replied. We arrived into another tunnel, which was pitch black like the other ones, although I was just about able to make out a small light in the distance, and the concrete wall it shone upon carried the initials "M-2" in a large yellow font. We were close to the manhole, which meant that I was close to escaping that nightmare. I was acting cool without much of a problem, given the fact that it's been something that I've been doing for the majority of my military career, but deep down I was left strongly disturbed by Fisher's sudden appearance, and the fact that I was just about to turn him in didn't do much to lift that weight off my mind.

"A moment ago you were acting like my best friend. My old pal. My ol' buddy," he sneered. "And now here I am, about to be thrown in the can again." He bowed his head as the manhole came into view.

I shrugged and nudged him forward. "That's what you get for using something as loud as an electric saw."

"Way to add insult to injury," he moaned.

With my gun firmly pressed into his spine, I pointed at the ladder and ordered him to ascend it. The sooner we got out of the sewer, the less paranoid I would have been about Fisher trying to run off.

Unfortunately, my little trip back to the surface had to wait, since I heard a pair of footsteps coming from one of the tunnels near the end of the corridor. I grabbed Fisher and pushed him against the wall, keeping my eyes on the illuminated area where the sounds seemed to have been coming from. "Did you come alone?"

He looked at me and, oddly enough, puckered his lips. I wasn't sure if he was trying to pout at me, or if he was taking the idiom, "kiss and make up" a tad too literally. He gargled, before opening his mouth and shooting a droplet of saliva onto my shirt. "I don't feel like answering," he said, before he dropped to the ground and rested his head on his knees.

"Cheers for that," I replied, barely resisting the urge to crack him on the head again. I raised my rifle towards the source of the noise. It was well over ten meters away, so I had more than enough time to react to a possible attack.

A few seconds later, a shadow crept into the light. My finger trembled slightly as it embraced the trigger of my rifle. I was anxious, since the presence of another escapee would have made things more complicated for me, and the concept of babysitting two convicts at once wasn't very appealing to me.

The shadow crept out of the tunnel, and was about to move into the darkness that enveloped the corridor. "Hello? Is someone there?" Silence followed. Fisher was at least careful enough to have kept his mouth shut, which was a surprise when you considered the state that he was in. "This is Private Adam Graham, and I'm ordering whoever is there to show themselves," he stammered, no doubt terrified by the lack of light.

"Over here!" I waved at him, but it was fruitless, since his eyes didn't seem to have adjusted to the sudden change of lighting at that time. Instead, he paused for a moment, observing the corridor, trying to pinpoint where we were.

"Identify yourself!" He grabbed his rifle and waved it around randomly.

"Reminds me of you," I whispered to Fisher. He tittered slightly, before looking away, not wanting to laugh with the man who just foiled his only chance at freedom. "Corporal Peter Johnson! Alpha two! We're over here!"

"What's up with the lights?"

He still couldn't see us, as he was relying on the wall to guide him, in spite of the fact that he was in a linear corridor. I was hoping to get Fisher away without being antagonized by any of the other soldiers, but keeping him concealed for an indefinite amount of time was impossible. "I have a civilian here who tried to make a run for it." I looked at the violated light bulb that was hanging right above us. Despite the lack of illumination, my eyes were still able to survey the cracks in it. "He made a little bit of a mess while he was at it."

"Ah, right." He stepped away from the wall and walked towards us. His face was largely indistinguishable, so I was hoping that his eyesight was just as poor to have allowed our faces to remain invisible. "Who is he?"

Fisher looked up at me and shook his head, and all I could do was shrug in return. _"Sorry," _I mouthed, although I wasn't sure if he got the message. I looked back at Graham, who still had his gun pointed at me. I had to decide between humiliating my former comrade again, or defying this random man who still couldn't tell for sure if I was a soldier or not. "I'm not sure," I blurted out awkwardly. "But that doesn't really matter to me. It's up to the big guys to find out." Hendrick would have strangled me for such a comment, but luckily enough Graham appeared to have been satisfied.

"Good point," he agreed, lowering his gun. "Those fuckers in the special forces annoy the hell out of me anyway."

I beckoned Fisher and forced him up the ladder.

"Did you shoot him?" I was just about to follow Fisher up the manhole before Graham decided to extend our little encounter into a damn interview.

"Did you hear the gunshots?"

"Yeah, I did. I sort of got lost on the way, so I had a bit of trouble figuring out where to go," he chortled.

I nodded and proceeded up the ladder. "I'm going to turn him in. You carry on."

"But, wait!" He grabbed me by my ankle and pulled me down. "Did you shoot him or not?"

I kicked his arm away and looked down at him. He was fidgeting with his rifle, indicating that he was nervous, which was hardly surprising giving how desperate I was to get out of there. "No," I frowned.

The ladder was cold, which forced me to resort to my sleeve to maintain my grip, and having to keep my rifle pointed up at Fisher's underside at the same time wasn't doing a lot of good for me. He could have tried swinging his frail little legs at me, which probably weren't strong enough to have thrown me off, but the sight and touch of them would have probably done the job. Thankfully, he seemed to have had enough common sense to realize that an armed soldier was standing directly below us, and thus any attempted resistance would have cost him his life. Probably mine as well.

"Damn thing," Fisher grunted, right as he pushed the manhole cover up. As it moved out of the way, a strong ray of light penetrated the hole, brightening the dark chute we were rising from. I poked Fisher with my rifle, and soon enough he hoisted himself out of the manhole, and I followed suit without delay.

We were just outside the town, and the area appeared to have been deserted. The fresh countryside air was a hell of a lot more ideal than the stuffy, rotting aroma that enveloped the sewers, and I savored it while I still could. I looked around, observing the tracts of farmland and trees that surrounded the town, before I was able to catch a glimpse of the sanitation station that was located out in the far distance. It was the point where we all entered and exited the sewers, as accessing the manholes was reserved only for emergency situations, and I'm quite sure that Fisher's sudden appearance counted as an emergency.

Fisher was resting on the side of the dirt road. Trying to run away would have been fruitless, since the vast openness of the whole area would have made it hard for him to hide. Even if he went for the forests that flanked the town, I would have been able to take a few shots at him before he got the chance to get to cover, and I get the impression that he realized this for himself.

"You alright?"

"Fine," he grumbled, tilting his head at me. He stood and walked towards me. "So, where to now?"

I couldn't help but glare at his chin, which had a patch of dry blood on it. I reached into my satchel and pulled out a handkerchief. "Clean your face," I suggested.

He glared at the piece of fabric that I held in my hand, before he snubbed it. "No fucking way. It's probably caked with mucus."

"It's not! Just fucking use it," I replied. I wasn't quite sure if it was used or not, let alone when I actually put it in there.

"Why?" He scratched at the spot, scraping a few flakes of dry skin off. "It's just a bit of blood."

Even thinking of it made me feel queasy. It was just a split lip, and it had dried up by now, but the even the sight of just a thin strip of blood frightened me. "Red isn't exactly my favorite color," I explained. "Now clean it up and get moving."

After a highly exaggerated sigh and a bit of mumbling, he accepted the handkerchief and wiped away as much as he could. He dropped it and walked towards the town, before stopping after a few steps. "Oh wait, I forgot." He turned to me and rolled his eyes. "You have to turn me in. Again."

"Like I said, it's better that I do it than somebody else." Considering how lucky he was that I didn't decide to blow his knee caps out.

"Yeah, it's nice to be turned in by the exact same guy again."

"Alright, that's enough." I waved my rifle at him and pointed at the dirt road leading around the town. "We'll take the long way."

"Whatever," he shrugged.

I didn't want to shame the man any more than I already had. Dragging this guy around at gunpoint in front of civilians was bound to have piqued someone's curiosity, so taking a relatively deserted route was the best option at the time.

We continued on down the road, while taking a few precautions once we started to wander into the forest, since the presence of so many trees and bushes might have encouraged him to slip away. He wouldn't have gotten far if he tried to run, but I didn't want to attract attention by riddling his backside with bullets. We weren't that far from the town, so gunshots would have definitely been audible from such a distance. However, he remained in sight, trekking along the brown road without any attempt at resistance.

"What made you think of using an electric saw?"

Fisher glared back at me for a moment, before turning away and walking onward. "Now you're asking questions?" He sighed, kicking a lump of dirt back at me with the sole of his shoe. "But then again, you are the guy with the gun."

"Indeed I am."

"Well, I didn't exactly have much to choose from." He looked back at me, eyeing up my rifle. "If I had that though..."

"I doubt a few rounds would have made much of a difference," I replied.

"I know," he whimpered. "I'd still kill to hold one of those again." He stopped and turned to me. I held my rifle tightly, just incase he got any bright ideas. "Hey. Is there any chance I could..." He kept his misty eyes on the gun, twiddling his fingers and thumbs. It was abundantly clear that he was desperate to feel the cold touch of a firearm for the first time in months. Fisher adored his fair share of warfare, and his fascination with modern weapons was no exception. "Y'know, hold it? Just for a moment?"

"Eddie," I groaned. "Do you really think I'm that foolish?"

"I didn't mean anything like that," he growled. His eyes softened and he continued to twitch as he admired the barrel of the gun. "I just want to feel it again." He caressed it with his fingers, before I shoved them away, bringing the gun up to his abdomen. "It's so cold and so smooth, yet so rough at the same time."

"Eddie, back off." I pressed the tip of the barrel into his groin. "I'm being serious now."

"The XM16E1. 20 round magazine. High velocity 5.56 by 45mm rounds. One of the most common combat rifles fielded by the US Army." He was mesmerized by its very appearance, despite the fact that a single press of the trigger was all that was needed to rip his internal organs asunder.

"You've been doing your homework," I nodded, before jolting him in the groin again. "You're very much like Walker."

"I could talk all day about the weapons they have stashed in this town." Not forgetting the amount of times he probably misfired each one.

"Well, we don't have all day. Now come on, keep moving." He hesitated for a moment, before looking away and proceeding. He kept his head down, no doubt disappointed by the rejection. Even if he didn't intend on using it against me, his negligence with the trigger would have probably cost me a limb or two, and I wasn't willing to bet my life on it.

After a couple of minutes, we had successfully worked our way around, and the town was in the far distance by the time we emerged from the forest. More plots of farmland were off in the background, and the dirt road leading to the field hospital was a mere two to three minute walk away. The whole area was deserted. Not even a single jeep passed us by as we made our way to the field hospital. It took an additional ten minutes to get there, and I wasn't in any rush to get there either. I've had enough running around to have lasted a lifetime, so having a nice, slow walk was all I needed, even if I did have my gun burrowed into the spine of my former comrade.

We neared the outskirts of the field hospital, and soon enough its tents and bunkers came into our field of view. I just wanted to drop Fisher off and get out of there as quickly as possible, which left me hoping that some soldiers were in the vicinity.

"Please." Fisher stopped, sending a slight gust of dirt back at me. He turned to face me, only this time without the wry disposition he was sporting for the last half hour. "Don't do this to me, Peter."

Tears. Leaking from his eyes. I couldn't believe it myself. How quickly one could turn from a dedicated soldier to a deranged psychopath, until eventually breaking down into a miserable wreck. "Eddie, you know that I don't want to do this. You know that I never intended on hurting you, your career, or your family. You have to understand that." I lowered my rifle and wrapped the sling around my shoulder. "You know that I hate violence and bloodshed, and that I never wanted to see you delve down to such a level."

"So that's it?" His lip quivered. "I'm down to some sort of fucking level now, huh?" He glanced back at the field hospital. He had already been there before. Once for time in solitary confinement, and another time where he almost cost himself his life. He didn't want to have to step foot on that accursed plot of land again, and I couldn't blame him. Sick things were going on there, and soon enough the scientists would have ended up bringing it right into the town. No person or place was safe from REDLIGHT, and Fisher was starting to see that. "I've no job. I've no friends. I've no fucking life!" He looked at me, dead in the eye. "Don't take away my dignity as well."

That was it. Seeing his pale, worn face being saturated with his own tears was horrifying enough to watch, but that sentence hit a weak point. "Shit," I mumbled to myself. "Y'know, I've been waiting for so long to see you again." I raised my hands behind my head and trotted around him. The stress was really starting to mess with my head. "For us to catch up on old times. Have a laugh. Shoot Hafen in the ass. Read some porno." Which were things that I most certainly would _not _have approved of, had I been in a less irksome situation at the time. "But instead, I run into you in the depths of the sewers, nearly crack your jaw open, and then arrest you for trying to escape from the fucking town!" I threw my satchel on the ground and kicked it, unaware of the fact that I had just completely mangled my lunch for that afternoon. I took a deep breath, before I decided to pick it back up and examine its contents. "Why can't things ever be easy for me?"

"I don't know," Fisher mumbled, rubbing the moist patches left on his cheeks.

"Look, we have to go. We haven't got a choice."

"I can't bear it, Peter." He fell to his knees and continued to plea. "Please let me go! Please!"

"What if I do? What's gonna happen to me then?" I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up before he got the opportunity to continue begging for his freedom. "The cameras saw you, and if that wasn't enough we also have an eye witness." I dusted off his jacket and beckoned him to move forward. "If I let you go, I'm going to get in deep shit."

"I know that, but..." His words trailed off into a faint mumble. The man was even too terrified to explain why he was so disinclined to have done as I said.

"Are you worried about being executed? Is that what you're so frantic about? Eddie, you'll only be shot if you actually escape the town, and with vital information." I shrugged, but my words didn't seem to convince him. "There's nothing to be so upset about."

He shook his head, but not in a disapproving manner. It was almost as if he was trying to restrain himself. He turned to face the field hospital in the distance. He kept twitching, groaning and mumbling, giving me no indication of what was wrong with him. I tried to get his attention, but he ignored each attempt. It wasn't looking good, seeing as we were just a few minutes walk from our destination, so any vehicles that may have sped by probably wouldn't have easily overlooked a military man holding a civilian at gunpoint. "Anne's..." The rest of the sentence was muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Anne's pregnant, Peter."

I wasn't sure what had fallen first, be it my stomach or my bowels, since my internal organs were left aching after hearing that. "Again?"

"Yes," he nodded. "We just found out last week."

I wasn't sure what to say, so what response I could form was blurted out nonsensically and without any degree of consistency.

"Look, it doesn't matter," he said, raising his hand at me. "It doesn't matter. I'd prefer not to get you involved again."

"That's why you tried to escape?"

He nodded, before wiping his face again with his hands. "I just can't bear it. I can't live with the fact that I'm bringing something so unnatural into this world. Anne can't even look at our current child and feel comfortable at the same time." As Baker and I suspected, Walker was forbidden from seeing his child, which I reckoned was a terrible punishment. However, given his recent breakdown, I figured he was probably better off keeping away from it. "Anne sees a very different child every time she goes to visit it, and to this day she can't even hold it in her own arms."

I couldn't help but marvel at how he referred to his own child as 'it', but he refused to elaborate when I brought the topic up. "Does Anne know about this?"

He shook his head. "No. But she's infected. I'm not. So if I managed to escape with her, she'd have given us away." A sound point, since a single blood sample or scan would have exposed them instantly, made even worse by the fact that Anne was carrying a military experiment inside of her womb. He walked on, snubbing our discussion. "You know what? Fuck it, let's just get this over with."

I was all too eager to agree. I had enough of trying to excuse myself. Getting away from that hellhole and Fisher was precisely what I needed in order to cool myself down. "I'm sorry Eddie."

"It doesn't matter anymore," he muttered. I pressed my gun into him and he moved on.

We finally made it to the field hospital. I looked around to see if any soldiers were on patrol, but not a single armed individual was in sight. Bringing him straight to Williams was out of the question. The last I wanted was to be around that pudgy bastard. I could have brought him to Higgins, although he probably would have interpreted my presence as an attempt to extract more information, made more convincing by the fact that I had a gun and a prisoner with me.

Suddenly, the sound of grinding dirt caught my attention, followed by the revving of an engine. I turned around, only to see a jeep heading right towards us, flanked by a torrent of dust coming from underneath its wheels. I grabbed Fisher's collar and pulled him out of the way, allowing the vehicle to pass unhindered. As it drove by, its occupants looked right at us, cocking their eyebrows in confusion. The vehicle immediately skidded to a halt, and the passengers disembarked.

"Oh dear," I muttered.

Staff Sergeant Hendrick, followed by three of his subordinates. He approached us with his hand stuck in his pocket, likely clinging on to a firearm he had tucked away in there. "What's going on here?"

"I found this guy mucking around in the sewers not too long ago." I slammed my rifle into the back of his neck, trying to act as efficient as possible. Hendrick's men glared at us, but eventually lowered their rifles, indicating that they were willing to trust what I was saying.

"I see." Hendrick grabbed Fisher by the neck and hoisted him up, looking straight at his face in an attempt to identify him. He released him, before pursing his lips in antipathy. "Well, look who it is."

"Healey," Fisher snorted, showing no degree of courtesy towards his captor. "How's your leg?"

Hendrick remained silent. He turned to face his men, almost as if he was about to give an order, right before he immediately swung himself back towards us, striking Fisher across the cheek with the palm of his hand. Fisher fell back towards me, but I managed to catch him before he lost his footing. I observed the red mark left on his face, before I shoved him back into place. He rubbed the handprint on his cheek and blushed, avoiding any degree of eye contact with his assailant. "You watch how you speak to me. Is that understood?"

Fisher affirmed with a slight nod, before he tilted his head back at me. His bloodshot eyes were still a tad sodden from his earlier outburst. All he did was look right at me, and I couldn't tell if he was just staring at me to avoid having to look at Hendrick, or if he was trying to point something out to me. I didn't bother to try and find out, since I had enough shit on my plate at that stage. All I wanted to do was keep my gun pointed at him, so that Hendrick and the other specialized units wouldn't attempt to disembowel him with gunfire. The less complicated things became, the quicker I could have gotten out of there. "What are you going to do with him, sir?"

"I wouldn't mind turning him in myself," he grinned, strongly anticipating the concept of redeeming himself after what happened the last time he stood before Fisher. "If that's alright with you?"

Fisher was still staring right at me, and by god was it hard to ignore him. Hendrick was awaiting a reply, and all I had was this skinny little madman just looking right at me. I couldn't believe how easy it was for someone to play with my mind like that, leaving me with no choice. "Go ahead," I finally replied, pushing Fisher towards Hendrick, and he accepted him with a mighty punch to the gut. Fisher keeled over, choking over the burst of pain inflicted on his digestive system, before Hendrick restrained him by the neck.

He turned to his men. "Alright, Vince. Take the jeep back to the garage. Dan, Mitch and I will take care of this little bastard."

His companion nodded, before fetching the key and driving away in the MB. Hendrick tightened his choke hold, muttered something into Fisher's ear, before dragging him away towards one of the nearby tents. Wherever they were going, it was abundantly clear that Fisher was going to be in for a rough night.

Soon enough they made their way inside, leaving me completely alone. This was what I wanted. Just to be left alone without having to handle any of the stress that surfaced ever since I laid my eyes upon his skinny figure earlier that day. Yet, in spite of that, I felt empty inside. I felt a hell of a lot worse than I did when I had Fisher in my grasp, and I couldn't understand why. I apologized to him and clarified the reasoning behind the conspiracy that led to him losing his job, and he seemed to have finally accepted it, assuming one could overlook the tears that were pouring from his eyes in the process. I felt guilty of course, but at the same time I should have felt relieved. Instead it felt as if a black hole had ripped its way through my conscience, depriving me of all feelings of consolation.

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><p><em>1005/66_

"Come on you bastard."

"Come on, come on, come on," O' Mara wheezed as he flexed his arm. He pressed it down on Hafen's arm with significant force, reddening to the point of where it looked as if it was about to snap in half. He continued to grunt and pant while he gained the upper hand. Their hands tightened and vibrated for a moment, before Hafen finally gave in to the stronger arm.

"Damn it," he shouted. His arm fell to the table, encumbered by Jason's superior strength. "I was so fucking close!"

O' Mara jumped from his seat, relishing in his victory, supported by the cheers of the soldiers who surrounded the table. Allan approached his subordinate and raised the victor's arm, proclaiming him the winner. "Well done, Private!"

"Thanks, sir," he replied. "Although, I have to admit that Mark did put up a good fight." His modesty won the praise of his supporters, but Hafen remained as peevish as ever.

"Alright, I'm up next," Sergeant Rivera announced. He pointed at Baker, a gesture which caused a couple of jaws to drop. "You and me. Now."

Baker nodded and folded his arms, already aware of who was going to win. "Alright then, let's go."

"Can I go next?" Walker smiled broadly, causing another trio of jaws to drop even further, although whether or not it was due to his distinctly unattractive teeth or his thin build was really beyond me.

Not that I really cared about these pointless arm wrestling contests. I was one for playing poker, blackjack, and other varieties of games that usually involved throwing away gratuitous amounts of cash. However, I hadn't touched a set of cards ever since I was lumbered into the sewers, and the events that unfolded on Sunday left me in too picky a mood to have even bothered challenging anyone to game.

"You alright?" O' Mara approached me, still a little flushed from his contest.

Trying to ignore the grunts coming from the table opposite us wasn't as easy as it sounded. "I'm fine," I muttered.

"You haven't said much over the last few hours. Is something wrong?"

I have to admit that I felt slightly flattered, since no one else noticed my increasingly depressing behavior, so I felt inclined to respond. "I just had a few bad days in the sewers. It's nothing serious."

"You want to talk about it?"

I should have told someone and let off some steam, but I just couldn't. Despite sleepless nights, constant surges of guilt and a nagging feeling in my head that just wouldn't go away, I couldn't help but feel that discussing the matter would have made things a hell of a lot worse for me. Alongside that, I wanted to avoid shaming Fisher any further than I already had. I couldn't even tell Baker for fear that he would subsequently spread it around like a damn forest fire. Walker wouldn't have understood a word I was saying, and sharing anything of importance with a grouch like Hafen would have been more likely to irritate me further. Even O' Mara, who was fairly harmless and a bit of an introvert, wouldn't have been worth discussing it with. I merely shook my head in response.

"You sure?"

"Positive," I smiled, although I would have been more akin to bawling my eyes out if there weren't so many people around.

O' Mara shrugged, and made his way back to the crowd, huddling in behind Allan and Fletcher. To absolutely nobody's surprise, Baker had demolished Rivera in the contest, standing up and raising his arms in a victorious manner while the crowd looked on and cheered.

I lowered my head and sighed. "Wouldn't mind a good game of poker right about now."


	12. TENSION

**TENSION**

_Hey guys. While I've been updating this fic, I've also been scanning through the previous chapters. I've spent some time correcting spelling errors and layout problems, so please do inform me of any mistakes you find in any of the chapters. I understand that 1969 is shaping up to be a pretty long story, and such lengthy chapters may turn people off reading it, but for the few of you who do actively read what I post, please leave any feedback you may have. I'm not looking for attention or extra views. I am merely looking to improve my work, and I can't do it without your criticism. So please, if you notice any problems, **let me know!** _:)

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><p><em>2605/66_

We gathered around the foreman next to the construction site. Progress on the hospital was coming along steadily. The basic structure of the ground floor was nearing completion, and soon enough the construction men would have immediately moved onto expanding the ground floor before moving onto the next floor. My reaction to this was mixed. The sooner the hospital was finished, the quicker we could stop being called around to help the workers. However, once it was finished, the scientists could immediately begin occupying the building, bringing more of their sick little tests and experiments right into the town. I gazed at the crane overlooking the site, wondering for a moment how much damage would have been caused if the whole machine had collapsed right on top of the site. Not that I wanted to be around if it did happen.

The foreman was busy giving out orders to us and Allan's squad, who had coincidentally been lumbered onto construction work at the same time as us. At least it gave Baker someone to mess around with during our lunch break, although that left me with Hafen and his persistent whining. Walker was usually sent off to fetch us some tea and snacks, while on occasion I'd send him over to strike up a conversation with the construction workers and wait and see how long it would have taken before they noticed his teeth.

The foreman was busy fiddling through his papers, taking a moment to spit some chewed tobacco on the ground, before he stuffed them away beneath his jacket and sent us off. It was the usual schedule. Carrying shit around for hours on end, occasionally stopping for a few minutes so that Allan and Baker could loudly joke about the other workers and their beer bellies, coupled with a few instances which involved us moving a few slabs of concrete around the site. It was tiring and horribly monotonous work, and my disconsolate mood wasn't making it any more bearable, which probably explained why I was so delighted when our next lunch break finally came along.

A bag of concrete hit the ground next to me, missing my legs by mere inches. I looked up at Baker, who had his hands firmly placed on his hips. "Thanks for that," I mumbled, crawling away from the bag.

"Alright. What's wrong with you?" I immediately thought of my wife, and comparing her with a two hundred pound giant of a man was a tad captivating. I remained silent and cocked my head down. "Are you going to answer me?"

"Why should I? There's nothing wrong with me at all," I shrugged. I fetched my copy of the Idaho State Journal and started scouring through the health section. Baker's foot collided with the back of the crumpled set of pages, sending them flying all over the place. "What the fuck?" I glared at him, right before I started gathering up what was left of the newspaper. "What is your problem?"

"That's what I should be asking," he outlined. "I don't want you sitting around acting all damn depressed. Is this about the virus, or Clark? Or is it me?"

"No," I replied sternly, trying to deduce where the health section had gone off to. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not fine. You've been acting like this for a while now." He crouched, handing me the page that I was missing. "You can either talk about it with me, or you can man the fuck up and quit acting like such a old crone. Understand?" I said nothing, instead opting to try and fit the health section back into its proper place, although in reality I was just using it as an excuse to keep quiet. "You want to talk about it or not?"

I shook my head, before ruffling through the pages again.

"Then lighten up," he ordered. He picked up the mug of tea he left on a nearby piece of scaffolding and gulped it down. He sat down beside me, taking a moment to adjust his backside to the pavement, before he gazed at his vacant cup.

Then, there was silence. I would have preferred if the big lug went off to get another refill, or even just went off to kid around with the construction workers for a while, since it would have beaten him just sitting there, absorbing the fact that he just made the situation too awkward to have any sort of genuine conversation. I remained seated, reading the exercise recommendations made by some random fellow whose photo made him look as if he hadn't eaten anything in months.

"Hey fellas." I looked up, feeling a sharp shiver rip its way through my spine right as that overly enthusiastic introduction was made. Sergeant Allan was standing there, with a sandwich and a mug cooped up in his left hand, giving us a deceivingly broad smile. I wasn't sure if I should have been nervous or delighted by his presence, since all I did was just stare at him. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," Baker responded, right before nudging me on the shoulder, and I didn't have time to check if he had managed to dislocate it or not. "Aren't you going to say hello, Corporal?"

I bowed my head, avoiding any eye contact. "Good to see you, Sergeant Allan." Baker shot an angry look right at me, but I was too busy trying to act engrossed in the newspaper to have paid much attention. He stood and approached Allan.

I kept my eyes on the health section. I wasn't reading anything to be honest, since I was too busy listening to the chorus of whispering that was being exchanged between them. I nudged a little closer to them, trying to make it seem as if I was just pulling up my socks.

"Sure," Baker muttered into Allan's ear, before looking back at me. He raised his sturdy index finger at me, just a few inches short of gouging my eye out. "Stay there. I'll be back in a moment."

"Fine," I replied. I threw myself back against one of the slabs positioned behind me, grateful for the smooth surface that it offered. The rowdy pair made their way off behind an excavator carelessly left behind by one of the construction workers. Baker gazed back at me for a moment, ensuring that I hadn't moved from my spot, a precaution that had caught my attention. For a moment, I believed that they were merely retreating behind the bulky vehicle to joke about the workers without being disturbed, but their awkward behavior suggested otherwise. Baker and Allan rarely cared much for their noise level when they conversed, and never passed the slightest bit of concern for those that they were ridiculing. I stood up, irritated by how cold my back was after resting it on the concrete slab, before I crouched and scampered towards the excavator.

I took my time, trying to avoid kicking any stones, since the slightest bit of noise would have easily given away my position. As I crept towards the excavator, I managed to take a slight peek over the bonnet, easily identifying Baker and Allan engaging in heated discussion. They were still whispering, but they were going about it in a very frantic manner, eliminating the possibility that they were just joking about the hairy anuses of the construction workers. I tried to make out any remotely understandable dialogue being exchanged by them, but their voices were too hushed to make anything they were spouting recognizable.

"Are you serious? When the h-" Baker's tepid roar was immediately intercepted by Allan's anxious demands for silence. Baker managed to tone himself down a bit, but was still whispering too loudly for Allan's personal tastes. Even so, I still couldn't extract anything useful from their conversation.

Baker suddenly raised his head, before moving away from Allan with a curious look on his face. How he didn't manage to notice me spying on him was nothing short of a miracle. "Hold on a sec." He rested his massive hands on the bonnet, prompting me to crouch out of sight. I started to sneak my way towards the other end of the excavator. "Shit, where the hell did Peter go?"

I clenched my teeth tightly. The sound of stones being crunched underneath the incapacitating weight of Baker's boots unnerved me immensely. The last thing I needed was to have been caked in the grimy saliva of a thickheaded Irish man, not to mention bearing the damage to my ears that would have also followed. After all, I only just had a shower that morning. I took in my immediate surroundings. Running off towards the scaffolding would have been a waste of my time and energy, since the sound of my combat boots would have given me away within seconds. Flanking behind the excavator would have only led to me being caught by Allan, and not even his habitual kindness would have saved me from Baker's angry roars. I stared at the cockpit of the vehicle for a brief moment, right before I could see Baker's barrel chest making its way into my field of view. I gulped, and climbed into the cockpit, before scooping myself up into a ball before he got the chance to notice me.

"Where the fuck did he go?" Baker looked around, acting completely clueless, before turning back towards Allan. "Can you see him?"

"Nope," he replied. "Maybe he went to the bathroom?"

Baker continued to observe the area, checking behind the scaffolding and even going as far as looking inside a nearby cement mixer. He ruffled with his short red hair for a moment, before shrugging and making his way back to Allan. "I don't know what the fuck is up with him."

"With who? Peter?"

"Who the fuck else?" Baker slammed his fist on the bonnet, encouraging me to tighten my fetal position. "He gets so worked up over the smallest of things."

"Ah well. He's just being a bit paranoid about the virus. It's nothing to be that worried about." I was flattered by Allan's defense, but another rough slam on the bonnet was all that was needed to keep me from being positive about the situation.

"It is, actually." Baker strolled around his fellow commanding officer, his hands placed firmly on his hips. I almost felt sorry for Allan. A rant was on the way, and there was no stopping it. "When he's in good humor, he's great. He's obedient, he's dedicated, and he even provides a good laugh every now and again." He moved out of sight again, although I could tell that he had no intention of slowing down. "But then there are times he can get so fucking angsty. So miserable. He's like a raging teenager."

Allan shrugged. "Jason can be like that sometimes."

"I know, but Peter just acts like a little bitch." His remark incited a short chorus of giggling from Allan, and Baker was all too eager to join in. I almost felt like jumping out of the cockpit and pelting them with stones, but I valued my life too much to have even bothered. "Ah no, but seriously. I try to talk things over with him when he acts up, but he just becomes ignorant and distant. It only makes it worse."

Allan didn't even reply at that stage. He just stared at Baker for a brief moment, before pouting and walking away to fetch his mug. "Look, I feel miserable enough as it is. Let's go get a refill, and forget about this whole virus crap."

"No argument there," Baker groaned, walking off to fetch his own cup, before departing the area with his companion.

I jumped out of the cockpit, before kicking the side of the vehicle in anger. Baker's words bit deep, and although he was speaking the truth to an extent, I didn't appreciate how he went about expressing it. What was even worse was how secretive they were being. What were they talking about? Why was Allan so frantic about keeping it quiet? What was it that had managed to frighten the life out of Sergeant Baker, a man who generally knew no fear? I was just as angry as I was confused, and I was genuinely enraged at the prospect of being left out of the equation.

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><p><em>2805/66_

Hafen approached the table with a plate of mashed potatoes and chicken, before plonking himself down and tucking in without delay. I had a few cheese sandwiches in place of the painfully generic meals that were being served at the canteen, and in the meantime I was washing it all down with a nice cup of tea.

Hafen's face had cleared up at that point, save for a few light scars around his cheeks from where the deeper wounds had been inflicted. He tried his best not to mention Clark over the last couple of weeks, instead becoming irritated whenever we brought up their previous encounter.

"What?" Hafen's question brought me back to reality, and it was only then that I realized that I had been staring at him for the last few minutes.

"Nothing," I stammered, taking a sip of my tea in an attempt to play it cool.

He shook his head before stuffing a lump of chicken into his mouth. He continued to feed himself, before marching to the canteen to put away his plate. As he made his way back, he stole a quick glance at the entrance, before looking back at me in shock. He ran to his chair, before sitting down and burrowing his head into his arms.

"What's wrong?"

"Don't look, just keep your eyes on me." Hafen's erratic behavior prompted me to look at the entrance, before he grabbed me by the collar and pulled me away. "I said don't fucking look!"

"Looks like he's back," I whispered. Corporal Richard Clark. The bastard was making his way down the corridor to the left of the entrance, presumably where his squad's bunkroom was. He didn't seem to have noticed us, which was too much of a relief for the both of us. "Shit."

"Did he see us?" My silence seemed to rattle Hafen even further. "Did he fucking see us?"

"No."

"Thank god," he exhaled. He dropped his head and spread his arms out in relief, nearly costing me my cup of tea in the process. "Where did he go?"

"Probably to his bunkroom. I wonder how Monroe will react."

"He probably won't give a shit." Despite the damage that had been done to his squad as a result of Clark's recklessness, it was probably the truth. Monroe didn't seem to be making much of an effort at maintaining order, which made me wonder why he was still in charge of his own men. Then again, Stillwell didn't like disbanding troops, so I didn't have much of a reason to be surprised.

Hafen sighed, looking more glum than usual, before grabbing his cup and taking a sip from it. "With him back, there'll be more and more fights going on now." He hesitated for a moment, presumably recalling his brawl with him. "And the higher ups will do nothing about it."

I couldn't believe it, but I actually sympathized with Hafen. His spirit was dampened, and all I could do was just sit there and drink away whatever was left of my tea. I had enough of standing by and doing nothing, and I was completely fed up with looking on as people sank into depression. All those kind of sights really did was make me feel terrible. Fisher had been on my mind for too long at that stage, and I refused to have Clark's mishaps ruin what little peace our squad had. "I'll deal with him."

Hafen looked up at me, almost conveying a smile, before frowning again and rolling his eyes. "As if anybody will listen to us."

"If you're too lazy to stick up for yourself, then so be it." I gulped down what was left in my cup, before standing up. "I've had enough of people putting up with his shit. Jason, Baker, Walker, you." I sighed, feeling ashamed at the feeling of vanity I was about to portray. "And myself, of course."

"What the fuck can you do? Chalmers and Williams can't do anything," he groaned.

"I'll figure something out." Although I wasn't exactly sure about what the hell I was supposed to do, I was positive that some sort of opportunity would have presented itself before Clark ended up killing someone. Hopefully.

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><p><em>0306/66_

"Did you receive the money?"

"Just yesterday," Gemma droned. There was a bit of roaring and screaming in the background, suggesting that Jake and Tyler were arguing. "Hold on a second."

Gemma's forceful roars pierced their way through the speaker. I sniggered, picturing the nervous look on the kids' faces. After a bit of arguing in the background, my wife eventually returned to the phone.

"Sorry about that," she puffed, indicating the shortness of her breath.

"No problem," I muffled.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?"

"Nothing."

After a few minutes of discussing the kids' grades, great bargains at the local supermarket, as well as some of Walker's latest antics, we moved onto a more pressing matter.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I groaned. My wife was too good when it came to sniffing out problems.

"You don't sound very well. Has something happened?"

This is what happened whenever Fisher was mentioned, regardless of whoever was talking about him. I got anxious, worried, and jittery. My insistence on changing the subject was probably what gave it away. "Nothing's wrong."

"There is," she growled. A loud slam could be heard over the line, which didn't bode well for me. "Tell me what's wrong!"

I dropped the phone and peered out of the booth. Baker and Hafen were absent, and were probably waiting outside for me. Or, in Hafen's case, probably trying to eye up the receptionist. I bit my lip and retrieved the phone. I drew it closer to my lips, probably to the point where she could hear my unsteady breathing.

"You still there?"

"Babe, this is the only time I'm going to tell you this, since I feel like shit just thinking about it, let alone actually talking about it." I half expected her to scream at me for such a brutish reply, but instead she just grunted and told me to continue. I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I ran into Eddie a few weeks ago."

Her strapping gasp nearly deafened me. "Really?"

"Yes. Unfortunately."

"Where?"

As always, there was the case of maintaining anonymity when it came to important details. I wasn't explicitly told by anyone to keep my mouth shut on what happened in the sewers. Hell, I told no one about it at all, so there wasn't really anybody who had a firm grip on whether or not I was free to discuss it with the outside world. But still, these phone calls were recorded and distributed to the special forces team for monitoring purposes, so if anybody disagreed with me on this matter, I'd be lobbed back into the sewers. "I ran into him in town."

"When?"

"A few weeks ago," I stuttered, although she seemed to be buying it.

"What did he say?"

"Well, he was angry," I sighed, recalling the events in the sewers. "He sort of blamed us for what happened to him."

Gemma groaned heavily, right as a loud slam could be heard in the background. "How petty. He abandons your squad and he can't even accept his own decision? How weak. I hate people who act like that."

If only she knew what really happened last year, but she was under the impression that he merely left the military to spend more time with his family, which was something that he most certainly would not have done if he had a choice at the time. He had every reason to be angry at us, even if he did take things too far in the end. "I know, but it's understandable. He just misses being with us."

"Well, it's his tough shit. You don't need a man like that working alongside you." She perked up a bit, and giggled into the phone. "At least you have that Walker guy around now, and he seems to be doing his job right. Wouldn't you agree?"

_His fucking job. He's doing Fisher's job. Fisher's job!_

My eyes ached and my fingers trembled. I grabbed the phone and slammed it against the side of the booth, almost on the verge of shouting to the heavens. Tears flowed down my face, which only made it harder for me to resume the conversation.

"Peter? Peter! Answer me! Peter!"

I pressed the phone against my ear and gritted my teeth.

"Babe? Are you there?"

"I have to go," I wheezed.

"Already?" She softened instantly. She knew I was blubbering my eyes out, and being over two thousand miles away from her meant that I didn't have a shoulder to cry on. "Peter. Come on, tell me what's wrong."

"I can't." Fisher kept flashing through my mind, followed by Anne, John Doe, Mrs Doe, Baker, Allan, and lord knows how many other people. I didn't know what to do with such thoughts enveloping what little of my sanity was left. "So much shit has been going on over the last year that I don't even know what to do about it!"

"Peter, please don't shout at me."

"Clark keeps bludgeoning me and my squad! Fisher is pissed as hell at me because I got him turned in! And now, I have this damn virus getting me into trouble, again and again and a-fucking-gain!"

"Peter..." She paused for a moment, roaring at the kids to stop arguing, before returning to the phone. Her attempts to console me were obscured by constant stuttering. "Look, I don't know what to say, because I don't know anything about what's going on in that town. Nobody does. But all I can say is that you have to hang in there. If not for yourself or your squad, then for us. We need you, Peter." She sniffled, right before roaring at the kids again. "Your family needs you, Peter. Please don't let us down." I didn't respond, because I really didn't want to end up saying something that I would have regretted. "Something good will turn up, and when it does then you can finally come back to us. Alright?"

I refused to go on. I thought letting off some steam would have helped, but it had the opposite effect. "Look, I need to go. I love you."

"I love you t-" I killed the line and left the phone hanging. I strolled out of the room, taking care not to let my tears be seen by any of the town hall personnel. I made my way to the receptionist, and inquired about my squad.

"Sergeant Baker and..." She hesitated for a moment, before rolling her eyes. "Private Hafen, made their way back to the base. Private Walker is waiting outside for you."

"These military men," I groaned, right before giving her a broad smile. "They're all the same, huh?"

"They sure are." She blinked her deep blue eyes and grinned, costing me what little control I had over my reproductive organs, right as I tried to cover up the awkward expansion with my hands. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice. "Have a good evening, Corporal."

"Oh I will," I beamed, walking out in the most awkward pose possible.

"Hey Corp," Walker grinned, revealing a few loose scrapes of spinach stuck between his gnashers.

"Hey, Anthony. I see you've already had your lunch."

He didn't reply, instead opting to glare at me like an idiot. "Are you crying, Corp?"

"Fuck no!" I wiped away whatever was left of my tears, trying to make it look like I just scratching my face, but even he didn't seem to be convinced. "My eyes are just a little sore."

He shrugged, before proudly raising his rifle up. "There's a lot of commotion going on outside the town."

"What do you mean?"

He reached down to the step in front of him, picking up his copy of today's Idaho State Journal. I was just about to flick through the health section, before a line of large, black text caught my eye.

**Idaho Riots Are Out Of Control!**

**Citizens Demand Answers Behind Hope!**

I scanned through the main text. A sly smile was making its way onto my face as I read through some of the interviews.

_"It's a disgrace to our proud state," exclaimed one of the protesters. "We allow them access to our lovely countrysides to perform their hideous experiments, and all we get are a few little snippets of information. Is that all we deserve?"_

I laughed maniacally, much to Walker's confusion.

_"I don't know what this REDLIGHT crap is all about, but I want to find out! Is this supposed to help us Americans as people, or just help us Americans as soldiers?"_

"Oh, this is just too good!" At that stage, I was slightly surprised that Walker didn't raise his rifle at me and place me under arrest.

_According to the anonymous leader of the group, which is known as Freedom from the Farce__, people from all across the state, alongside a few volunteers from California and Washington, intend on marching towards the 'External Zone' of Hope. It is currently unknown what sort of action is to be taken by these people, but it is clear from their demonstrations across the west coast that they mean business. We reached out to government officials for their opinion on the matter, but they refused to comment.  
><em>

I turned to Walker and grinned. He, being as brainless as ever, smiled back without conveying even the slightest bit of concern. "Do you know what this means, Anthony?"

"I sure do, Corp." He raised his rifle up into the air and shook it. "Finally, we're going to get some action!"

His excitement reminded me of Fisher, which explained why I anxiously pulled his arms back down. "No, I'm not talking about that." I pointed to the text on the paper, under the false impression that he even cared about what it said. "Something is finally going to be done about REDLIGHT!" I threw the paper back on the ground and leaped for joy, almost costing me my balance on the steps. It was a load off my back. Even though stalling progress on the virus would have taken more than just a small horde of people, it still had the potential to spread the negative opinion on Hope across the continent. If the majority of the American populace expressed outrage and opposed the virus all at once, the government would have ended up considering the prospect of cancelling the project. No more Williams, no more Clark, no more Fisher, no more Higgins, no more patrols, no more phone calls home, no more bullshit. It was perfect!

Walker was laughing along with me, right as I grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the entrance. We strolled back to the base in a victorious manner, eagerly awaiting additional news on the protests.

* * *

><p><em>0406/66_

"What's up with you?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all," I replied.

Baker merely shrugged and resumed tucking into his cereal. Not even his sickening burps and slurps were enough to put me in a sour mood. Finally, after all these months of reminiscing, not only would I have managed to put the conflict between Fisher and I aside, but I would have finally been able to go home and leave REDLIGHT behind.

"Did you hear the news?"

Baker looked up at me and grinned. "The protests?"

"Yes," I blurted out, with a tad too much enthusiasm.

"I had a feeling you'd be happy about that."

I was getting restless and was already jerking my legs back and forth in excitement. "Has Chalmers or Williams said anything about it?"

"No. I don't think so," he shrugged, before loading another lump of cereal into his mouth. "Although, chances are that we'll be forced to do something about it."

"Well, we can't exactly just open fire on a few civilians, right?"

"No." He loudly munched on what was left of his breakfast for a few minutes, gathering the attention of a few nearby soldiers, before returning to the canteen for a second helping. He made his way back and plonked himself into his chair, and started to help himself. "I suppose you wouldn't be up for a bit of poker?"

I glanced at my watch. Our next patrol was in an hour, so we did have some time for a quick game, one that I would have undoubtedly ended up winning. "Sure," I shrugged. I was just about to get out of my seat and return to our quarters to fetch some cards, right before a mighty slap on the back forced me down. "What the hell?"

Private Fletcher and Sergeant Allan were behind me, and were already forwarding their greetings to us, followed by some friendly banter between Allan and Baker.

I looked at Fletcher. "What's going on?"

"Conference meeting at noon. All morning patrols have been cancelled." He glanced at a sheet of paper he had been carrying. "Chalmers asked us to spread the word."

I perked up instantly, and my legs were once again vibrating in anticipation. "What's it for?"

"Hell if I know. I'm just glad we have the morning off." He grabbed his commanding officer by the shoulder and pulled him away. "Come on, sir. We have to keep moving. I don't want to get in shit with Chalmers."

"Right behind you, Private," he replied, before exploding into rambunctious laughter with Baker, much to the irritation of the other men trying to eat their food. "I'll see you later, then."

I was still debating whether or not I should have quizzed Allan on what he was talking about at the construction site, but doing so would have angered Baker. They eventually strolled off towards another table.

"I bet it's on the protests," I announced giddily. Baker nodded in response, much to my pleasure.

"Chances are it will be. Which means there won't be any virus information for you."

"Oh, that won't be a problem. That much I can assure you," I replied, much to his surprise, although it wasn't long before he went back to gulping down his second serving of cereal.

* * *

><p><em>0406/66_

The men were piling into the conference hall once the clock struck noon. We made our way to our usual seats by the windows, attempting to speak with one another over the excessive chatter from the other soldiers.

"Don't get too excited," Baker stated, much to Walker's disappointment. "We're not going to be shooting anyone."

"Aw, but Sarge," he moaned, briefly reminding me of Fisher, just before I shook my head and tried to ignore those thoughts. "We have our guns for a reason. We have to use 'em at some point."

"Anthony, it doesn't matter," I winked at him. "Your time will come someday."

"Yeah, maybe it will, Corp," he smiled. Not even his gruesome fangs were enough to shatter my hope of the situation. We would have, hopefully, been out of that town soon, and then Walker could get all the action he wanted in Vietnam. Hopefully Fisher could have as well, since nothing would have made him happier than to have held a gun again.

"Attention!" Silence followed, right as Williams approached the podium, looking as delightful as ever.

He muttered a few words to Professor Higgins, who was sitting at the front, before he nodded and turned to face us. "Alright then, I'll try to keep this short and sweet."

Baker looked at me, possibly to remind me not to anticipate receiving any information on the virus, but I just ignored him.

"I'm sure some of you have been reading the papers lately. Right now, our little project isn't very popular in the public eye." He paused to let Chalmers quieten down some giddy troops at the back of the hall, before clearing his throat and continuing. "A little group called 'Freedom from the Farce', have been threatening to take action on the town." The utterly ridiculous title incited a bit of laughter from the back, but a few threats regarding the sewers were all that were needed to calm them. "Now, I'm sure we can all agree that getting more people from the outside involved in this project would be very bad for us." Which was probably the only occasion where I actually agreed with Williams. "As such, we have to take action ourselves."

Talk about keeping things short and sweet. I was on the verge of kicking the seat in front of me. That's how damn impatient I was being. I wanted to know what could have been done about the situation, and whether or not it would have proven to be fruitless. A firm hand that had been placed on my shoulder tried to convince me otherwise.

"Keep it cool," Baker whispered. I refused eye contact, since I wanted to keep listening.

"According to the group, they will be approaching the External Zone at some point next week," Williams continued, finally getting to the damn point. "We estimate that their numbers will be in the hundreds, and so far no battalions from the outside have agreed to help us."

One of the men near the front raised his hand. "Why would they refuse to help us?"

"Two things. The first issue is that their commanders don't like the idea of oppressing civilians. The second issue is General Stillwell. He feels that our own men are more than capable of taking care of the problem. He just wants to prove to everyone that a hundred soldiers and few special forces troops are all that are needed to protect the town."

A bit of muttering near the back indicated that some people didn't share the same viewpoint, but they had to die down before Chalmers pounced on them.

"So, at the moment, we're on our own." He raised his hands and smiled. "However, we are definitely capable of defending this town, and a few civilians won't be that big of a problem."

Another man raised his hand. "But what if more of them come?"

Williams shrugged. "It won't be a problem. The town is gated and fenced off, and our security will easily rat out anyone who tries to trespass. We'll be fine."

More hands started to surface from the crowd, and Williams didn't seem to be very pleased about it. He picked out one at the back.

"What day are they due to arrive?" The mass of hands in the hall were immediately lowered, since they were all going to ask the same question.

"We aren't sure. They haven't set a specific day or time, probably in an attempt to catch us off guard. However, we have cameras scattered across the External Zone, so they won't be surprising us."

I raised my hand, much to Baker's chagrin. "Don't", he pleaded, trying to pull my arm down, but it was already too late.

Williams pointed at me, although I could tell from the resentful look on his face that he regretted it. "Yes?"

"What do you intend to do once they arrive?"

Williams paused for a moment. This was something that he clearly didn't think through. The crowd were listening in, anxious to hear a response. Williams looked at me and sighed, right before getting ready to release whatever bullshit he had in store. "We are going to need a few squads to volunteer for the role of holding off the civilians. We don't intend on harming them, but we can't let them have their way either. We will also have some personnel from our special forces performing some reconnaissance of the area, in order to eliminate the possibility of them bringing along anyone else to try and surprise us."

The men looked at one another in confusion, before bursting into a sudden frenzy of chatter. Following a few roars from their commanding officers, they eventually quietened down. A couple of men raised their hands, before Williams picked out a man who was just sitting right in front us.

"Yes?"

"Will we be excused from our patrols?"

"Squads who volunteer will most certainly be excused from their patrols." Several roars of joy followed, although Williams was quick to shatter their hopes and dreams. "However, we can't guarantee when you will return. The protests could last for one day, maybe two, or perhaps even an entire week. Who knows? We can't take physical action against the people unless they mount a resistance. Alongside that, we can't afford to switch squads either, since that would give the protesters an opportunity to approach the town. The last thing I want is the whole place going up on high alert, and I most certainly don't want people getting shot."

The men's reaction to that announcement was indifferent. A few remained positive, but others were chatting amongst themselves to try and decide whether or not such a venture would have been worth it. I relaxed in my chair. With such a lousy response from the troops, and with the persistence of the protesters, the town's view in the public eye would have quickly deteriorated. It was perfect.

"So. We can take volunteers now, or we can wait until next week." Williams glanced at Chalmers. "What do you think, Sergeant Major?"

"I reckon we should take some now, so that we won't be panicking next week if they attack early." I was unnerved by how he was treating it as if we were at war, but I wasn't in a position to argue. At least Walker seemed to be having fun, judging by the horrific smile he had plastered on his face

"Yes. That may be the best idea." He turned to the crowd and smiled, rubbing his hands together, although I doubted that his acting would have been sufficient to convert us to his side. Heck, Hafen would have probably been more convincing, which isn't saying much at all. "Alright then, gentlemen, any volunteers?"

The squads conversed with one another, although it was taking quite some for them to reach a decision.

"Let's do it!" Walker received a strong punch to the gut from Baker, forcing him to speak in a lower tone. "We should do it, Sarge! It'll be fun!"

I looked at them in horror. Sure, losing a few hours of patrols would have been nice. But, having to face off against a group of innocent people who shared the same feelings as I did? It didn't sound like much fun to me.

Baker turned to Hafen, who somehow managed to sneak his Playboy magazine into the hall. "What do you think, Private?"

Hafen shrugged. "I suppose a bit of time outside the town will be nice." He resumed admiring his beloved models on the front pages. As long as he had his pornography, I doubt Hafen really cared.

Baker turned to me. "What about you, Johnson?"

"I don't agree with it. These are innocent people, and we shouldn't be oppressing them."

Walker glared at me, with a pitiful look on his face. "Aw, come on Corp! We're finally getting some action! It'll be great fun!"

"Standing in front of angry civilians doesn't count as 'action', Anthony." I looked at Baker again, shaking my head. "Sir, it'll be a waste of time."

Baker was weighing his options. He bit his lip and continued to ponder. Trust an impatient pervert and an excitable fool of a soldier, or side with the only man in the squad that he remotely liked. I have to say that I was equally surprised by his decision as I was disappointed.

"We'll do it."

Walker leaped out of his seat with joy, shooting the air above him with his fingers, reenacting what seemed to be a very corny action movie he watched at an earlier stage.

Chalmers stepped forward. "Private, sit down!" It didn't take long for him to obey.

I grabbed Baker's rocky arm and squeezed as hard I could. "Sir, please. We fucked over one man already, we don't need to fuck over an entire group of them."

He raised his arm and grabbed my wrist, sending huge waves of pain shooting up my arm. I tried to curse at him, but the strain he was putting on me was too great. He looked at me, dead in the eyes. "I've had it up to here with you and Fisher." I could feel my vital organs ripple and twist right as he spoke. I couldn't believe what he was saying. "Eddie isn't here anymore, and he never will be. You can't change that, and you have to accept that. Alright?" He tightened his grip, much to my visible displeasure. I couldn't believe that he was resorting to such violence, when he would usually just lecture me and then immediately pretend that nothing happened. His face was starting to redden, so I could clearly tell that he wasn't in the mood for an argument. "Alright?"

"Alright," I groaned, right as he relinquished his grip.

He raised his hand, immediately catching Williams' attention, who pointed back at him with a broad smile. "Sergeant Alan Baker. Alpha..."

"Alpha two, sir," he intervened.

Williams jotted down our squad on a piece of paper. "Thank you, Sergeant. Alright, anyone else?"

There was no response, aside from a bit of whispering among a few of the men. Williams rested his elbows on the podium and frowned.

"Gentlemen, we need at least three squads, otherwise we won't be sufficiently covered. Please, I know it's a lot to ask, but it has to be done." Still no response. Just an entire crowd of men who seemed to be just as clueless as Walker, usually whenever he was tasked with something more complex than shooting a gun or washing some clothes. "It's either that you volunteer, or I'll start hand picking squads. Your choice."

Another few moments of silence, right before a hand at the far left side of the hall surfaced from the crowd. I tried to look over the men flanking the hand's owner, but Baker wouldn't let me leave my seat. Williams pointed at the other side and started to write down more details.

"Sergeant Killian Allan. What's your squad?"

"Bravo three, sir." Allan's voice didn't seem to warrant much of a reaction off Baker, although I could tell from the grin on his face that he was happy to see his buddy volunteering.

"Thank you, Sergeant. Alright, one more squad. Come on, gentlemen."

No response. No one mustered the confidence necessary to take on this task, and I couldn't blame them. I just wanted the protesters to get their way, so that I could have finally gotten the fuck out of there. However, despite the recent events, Baker didn't seem to share that same opinion.

"Alright then. I'll have to pick one," Williams sneered, without expressing a slight bit of remorse. He looked at the piece of paper he had in his flabby hand, before writing a few more details on it. "Alright then. Sergeant Monroe, Charlie three."

"Right here, sir," Monroe announced. My eyes lit up, and I could tell from Hafen's blank expression that he was shocked as well. We looked towards the back of the hall, where Monroe's hand could been seen.

"You're up. You'll be accompanying Alpha two and Bravo three next week. Is that understood?"

"Of course, sir," he replied in a polite manner. I could feel his eyes burning through our heads, but we tried as best as we could to ignore him.

I poked Baker's arm. "Sir, did you hear that?"

"We'll talk about it later," he whispered, maintaining eye contact with Williams.

"But s-"

"Not now," he muttered, grabbing my wrist again. I wrestled myself away and folded my arms, ignoring him for the rest of the conference meeting.

Williams slammed his hands on the podium, ready to revert back into the same totalitarian and cynical fart he had always been. "Alright then. That will do! Your time of deployment will be relayed to you by Sergeant Major Chalmers!" He rubbed his hands again and adjusted the microphone. "Alright then. This meeting is now concluded. Return to your posts immediately!" Williams stepped down and joined Professor Higgins, right as the other men stood and gradually made their way out of the building.

As we made our way out, I remained as close to my squad as possible, hoping to avoid any sign of Clark. After the coast was clear, I made my way back to the building and remained tucked in beside the double doors. Baker, Walker and Hafen were moving on towards the town center, right before they stopped and noted my absence. Baker looked back at me and shook his head, trudging towards me in an irate manner.

"Look! I know you're angry with me, but you know that I've had enough of you acting depressed! We've already talked about this!"

I folded my arms and rolled my eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, sir."

"Excuse me?" He strolled closer, pressing his chest against mine. "Do you want me to put you in the sewers for the rest of the weekend?"

"I'm not standing here because I'm angry with you." I walked closer to the door, negating any further attempt at arguing. Baker shook his head and proceeded back towards the other men, unwilling to try and reason with me. Not that I was offended or anything, since the less lecturing he did the easier things were for me.

I remained at the door for a little over five minutes, at which point most of the other men had already left the area, and all that were left were a few civilians making their way through the center to reach the markets. I was considering just marching in, but I wasn't sure if Williams would have perceived that kind of move in a negative light, and I wasn't in the mood for being lumbered back into the sewers, even if I could have used the bit of solitude at that stage. Thankfully, Williams came storming out of the building with Higgins at his side.

"I'm not sure," he whispered. "I mean, if things continue as they are, the government will cut our budget even further, and you know how bad things are in Vietnam at the moment."

Their conversation was immediately stalled once Higgins noticed me. "Ah, Private."

"Corporal," I corrected.

"Watch how you speak, Johnson." Williams whispered something into Higgins' ear, who replied with a slight nod, before making his way out of the vicinity. Williams turned to me and pursed his lips, almost prompting me to swing my fists at him. However, violence wouldn't have gotten me anywhere. At least not yet. "Now, what do you want? Are you here to cause trouble?"

"What makes you think that I'm here to cause trouble?"

"Because that's all you do," he muttered, glancing at the sheet of paper he had in his right hand. "Cause trouble."

"Actually, it's quite convenient that you have that with you," I added. "I'm here to talk with you about the squads you have lined up for next week."

He paused for a moment, before sighing and raising his hand to his head. "I forgot you were in Alpha two. This won't end well."

"Next week won't end well if you stick us with Charlie three!"

He stuffed the paper into his pocket and sighed. "Let me guess. It's because of Corporal Richard Clark, isn't it?"

At least he wasn't acting totally oblivious, although it still didn't say much about him. "You're lumbering him with three men he has attempted to fucking murder in the past. Myself, Private Hafen, and Private O' Mara!" I strolled closer to him and laid my hands on his shoulders. "It will be a disaster if a psychopath like him is put on the front lines!"

"Listen to me," he growled, knocking my hands away from him. "I am aware of Corporal Clark's less-than-stellar record. I've made multiple attempts to get this guy discharged." I stepped back, actually willing to listen to the man for once. "This guy has been stirring up a shitstorm ever since he came here, not unlike yourself."

"That's nice to know," I muttered, almost delving down to the point where his face looked like a pretty appealing target for my fist.

"Now, following his little struggle with Private Hafen a few weeks back, I took it upon myself to discuss Clark's future as a soldier with General Stillwell himself."

My jaw dropped. Lieutenant Colonel Williams doing something beneficial for his men? Now that was something you didn't see everyday. "I see. And?"

"Stillwell is willing to give Clark one more chance, and I believe the perfect test for him will be taking place next week." He closed in on me and cocked his eyebrows. "Wouldn't you agree, Johnson?"

A test that could have ended up costing us our lives, especially when you considered that the bastard was going to be holding a gun at the time. All I really had to deter such a possibility was Sergeant Baker, who was the only individual who Clark seemed to be genuinely terrified of. However, whether or not that was going to be enough was debatable at best. "And what if he fucks up?"

"Then I will personally see to it that he is placed under arrest and discharged at the earliest convenience," he gloated, his rough Texan accent ruining what little charisma he displayed.

"At that point it may already be too late. He'll probably shoot someone."

"Well, we don't know that for certain. He's already been warned about his behavior, so don't worry too much. He can't be that stupid."

The problem was that Williams didn't realize the full extent of how dangerous Clark was. Words couldn't describe it. You'd have to see for yourself what the man was capable of before you could make any judgments, and it was already abundantly clear to everyone that Williams was never in a position to be making any credible impressions, mainly because he tried as hard as he could to stay away from us. The man strolled away without a care in the world, probably looking forward to his lunch, while I was stuck wondering if the upcoming protests would have helped me to get out of Hope, or would have left me trapped there for years to come.


End file.
